


Hobson's Choice

by KitMontana



Series: Heart and Soul Series [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 04:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18358745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitMontana/pseuds/KitMontana
Summary: The crew deals with the aftermath of the events of 'Flung from Heaven', and Janeway is left with the worst of all possible choices to make.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm archiving these stories without the author's permission because they're too good to lose to the bottomless pit of the internet. If anybody has an issue with this, or if you are the author and want them gone, please leave me a comment and let me know how I can get in touch with you.

_There was a time when these personal logs were an anathema to me._   
  
_I understand Starfleet's need for them - they provide historical perspective, raw data to analyze what makes Starfleet captain's tick - but all too often I would spend my time tricording these logs when I would much rather be reading Filomen's Worlds of the Federation or catching up on the latest warp drive journals._   
  
_But now . now I find they have become my confidante, my counselor. I tricord my hopes, my thoughts . my fears. A machine has replaced my friends._   
  
_In another time - not so long ago, really, but it seems years - I might sit across the table from Tuvok and ask his counsel, his opinion. I might play a game of tennis with B'Elanna Torres, and then cool down with a glass of t'hall and a conversation about reflector arrays and transporter signatures._   
  
_I'd change out of my uniform and into my civilian clothes, and wander down to Sandrine's for coffee or synthetic wine, and gossip with Tom Paris and Harry Kim after a game of pool._   
  
_Or I might spend a soothing hour with my first officer over morning coffee. He'd ask me questions for which I had no answers, and give me the answers to questions I hadn't even asked._   
  
_Years ago - what seems like years ago - I'd do that. Years ago, I had a crew that saved my life, and became more than my crew to me. They became my friends, my family. How did it happen that I became a pariah, set apart, seeking solace in a few tricorded words at the end of the day?_   
  
_Hardly a night goes by that I don't lay awake, alone in my bed, wondering if there was another path I should have taken, another choice I should have made during that heart- wrenching trip though to the Alpha Quadrant. Should I have not taken Voyager through the wormhole? Should I have defied Admiral Necheyev, not followed her orders? Should I have offered Chakotay - and the rest of the Maquis, of course - a shuttle, allowing them to flee?_   
  
_Hindsight should give me perspective, should allow me the luxury of knowing the right answers. But even now, two months later, I still don't know what I would have done differently._   
  


* * *

  
  
Captain Kathryn Janeway, captain of the United Star Ship Voyager, the most powerful Starfleet vessel in the Delta quadrant, sat alone in the dining facility eating her dinner.  
  
Captains often dine alone, but usually by choice rather than by default. It was an ancient tradition, stemming from the days when ship's captains led solitary lives aboard their wooden ships, and were as close to gods as most of the crew would ever know.  
  
Kathryn Janeway dined alone most evenings now, but not by choice. There were few who truly wished to break bread with her. At least it seemed that way in her mind.  
  
She understood the psychology of it. People avoided pain. They avoided the person, place or thing associated with pain. A child avoids the flame of the stove that burns her hand. A pedestrian goes blocks out of his way rather than cross at the same corner where he was struck by a ground vehicle.  
  
And a crew shuns a captain who sent them home, only to tear them from it.  
  
Some small part of Janeway appreciated that it was good for a crew to have a common bond, even if that commonality was an odium for her. When she took “Psychology of Command” in graduate school, she remembered listening dispassionately to one of the lecturers - an aged retired Vice Admiral who lived through the Varpapian uprising out on the perimeter more than seventy years ago - who talked of keeping his crew bound together by cultivating a common dislike of himself.  
  
He'd assign trivial, self-serving tasks to his crew, such as hand-cleaning his cabin, growing flowers in the airponics bay for his office rather than much-needed foodstuffs - anything to bind the crew together and keep them united as their ship crumbled about them from the nearly constant attacked by the Varpapii.  
  
The ploy had worked, he'd said. The crew was united in a common goal - their hatred of him - until the very day he'd broken from the social isolation and anguish.  
  
Young Ensign Janeway had listened to the old man, pitying him, admiring him, but knowing that aboard her ship, when she was in command, it would never come to that. Yet, here she was, alone for the fifty-third dinner in a row, perhaps the most hated person on the ship. She knew they all didn't hate her. Tuvok, for one, felt toward her as he always had. Yet he was still struggling to overcome the loss of his family, whether it was an actuality or a happening unique only to the parallel universe they had encountered. He spent much of his off duty time in his quarters, and fasted as many nights as he ate dinner. He kept to himself, and as a corollary, isolated Janeway from him as well.  
  
Harry and Tom were as they always were to her - respectful, if somewhat distracted over what happened in the alternate Alpha Quadrant. Still, it was an impossibility of protocol to have anything but a superior officer-junior officer relationship with them.  
  
While Neelix and Kes were a comfort to Janeway - always sympathetic, always willing to listen - the troubles that burned Janeway's soul were as foreign to them as the Alpha Quadrant.  
  
The Maquis, on the other hand, held a true hate for her.  
  
Torres, Phalen, Brazil, and the others made no secret of their feelings, lips curling and something close to insolence in their manner when they passed her in the passageway. While never stepping over the bounds into insubordination, Torres took every opportunity to disagree with the decisions Janeway made at staff meetings, arguing and only relenting when Chakotay chastised her mildly or Janeway snapped, “That's an order, Lieutenant!”  
  
And then there was Chakotay - the individual who had the most reason to treat her despicably. He behaved as the perfect first officer.  
  
Every report submitted was faultlessly prepared. Every task she assigned was flawlessly completed in the time they agreed on. Her every question was answered with courtesy and deference, every casual comment she made met with a small smile.  
  
He was what every captain dreamed of in a first officer - efficient, effective, even-tempered.  
  
And not only did Janeway hate it, it terrified her.  
  
Their easy companionship was gone. No more morning coffee before the day began, sharing ship scuttlebutt. No more visits to Sandrine's for the pool tournaments or a glass of wine before heading to their respective quarters for the night. And no more seeking his counsel when she needed advise.  
  
Instead, his look across the table at staff meeting froze her. Whether real or imagined, his eyes mocked her, making her doubt her decisions. She hated it. It bruised her heart and made her feel more lonely that she had ever in her entire life.  
  
Still, she knew she could live with it. He wasn't the first recalcitrant officer she'd had to cope with. One doesn't serve in Starfleet for more than 20 years without learning how to cope with difficult crew members and officers.  
  
And as agonizing as it was, she knew she could also live alone, without the fraternity she thought that she would, finally, share with him; with Chakotay. She had lost family. She had lost lovers. Indeed, she had watched father and fiance, die before her eyes as she labored in a vain to save them.  
  
She'd lived through it. She'd live through it again. She sighed, not realizing she'd actually done so out loud until she heard Neelix behind her.  
  
“Something wrong, Captain?” he asked, slipping into the seat across from her. Janeway's first inclination was to give him her usual dismissive smile and deny anything but business as usual, but it had been so long that anyone had joined her, she instead put down her coffee and gave him her full attention.  
  
“Mr. Neelix,” she said, chin in hand, elbow braced on table. “This is not a happy ship. You're the morale officer. What should we do about it?”  
  
Like a conspirator, he leaned forward toward Janeway, and spoke in a loud whisper. “Then you've noticed it, too?”  
  
Janeway smiled wryly. Neelix, for all his unique and cheerful ways, could be obtuse about the obvious. She had no way of knowing if it was his “alien” nature or something lacking in him as an individual. Usually, she found it amusing. Tonight, thought, it annoyed her so much she wanted to jump up from the table and stalk out. Instead, she smiled tightly.  
  
“Yes, Mr. Neelix, I've noticed, too. Ever since the Alpha quadrant.”  
  
Neelix nodded back at her sagely. “Yes. I noticed right after we got back, as soon as the repairs were completed. It's the disappointment, I suppose.”  
  
That, thought Janeway, and the fact that a lot of the crew blames me for what happened. “So, Mr. Neelix, what can we do about it?”  
  
The Talaxian's brow wrinkled. “Captain, I've given that a lot of thought. And I have a suggestion. Kes thinks it's a good idea, too.”  
  
Janeway gave him a surprised look. She hadn't expected an answer from him - her question had really been rhetorical, a small venting of her frustration and loneliness.  
  
“What?”  
  
Neelix looked about them, as if to ensure they wouldn't be overheard, and then whispered his reply.  
  
“Sports.”  
  
It was all Janeway could do not to laugh.  
  
“Sports? You mean, like, parisi squares and palmball?” Neelix nodded. “I'm not acquainted with those two activities, but if they are physical competitions, then, yes, like parisi squares and palmball.” When he saw the doubt in her face, he continued on quickly.  
  
“I've been reading a little about Earth's history. Different geo-political divisions of your world hold sporting events every four years, called ... what's it called ... Ollyimpics? Even when there's political upheaval, you hold them. There's even some indication that during the fifty-sixth Ollyimpics, two factions in conflict initiated the talks that lead to an accord ...”  
  
Janeway leaned back in her chair. It was a silly idea. Wasn't it?  
  
“So what are you suggesting? A parisi squares tournament? Maquis against Starfleet?” Despite her resolve not to let conditions on the ship bother her, the last statement slipped out.  
  
Her companion shook his head. “No, no. I don't think that would do it. I think ... well, why don't we have our own Ollyimpics, here on the ship? Split up the ship into two teams, make them work together, have a little friendly competition ... “ He let the rest trail off, as Janeway sat back, thinking.  
  
Would it work? Or would competition merely drive the wedge in deeper? She'd seen friendly games turn into an angry rivalry that left only hurt feelings in their wake.  
  
Still .  
  
Maybe Neelix was on to something here. If your “enemy” was on your team, could you maintain enmity against him?  
  
Would an on-going competition distract the crew from their feelings and disappointment and frustration and anger?  
  
Maybe. Maybe this would work. But it would have to be carefully planned .  
  


* * *

  
  
If she looked a bit unrested the next morning, for the first time in nearly two months it had nothing to do with sleeplessness. She'd stayed up half the night, thinking about Neelix's idea, reviewing personnel records in the “personal interests” sections, an area she'd rarely perused before, and then writing a computer program that would suit her needed.  
  
Then, she'd put the program to work so it would be ready for her when she got on the bridge the next morning. For the first time in a long time, when she walked onto the bridge, she felt happy. Well, not happy - that was probably too powerful a word for her feelings. Hopeful. She was finally taking some actions that might help her crew get over its slump and back to the espirt de corps it had before the wormhole. She nodded to the bridge crew as she took her seat, reviewed the night duty officer's report, checked systems readings, and then stood up to face Harry Kim, the young Ensign who was Voyager's operations and communication officer.  
  
“Mr. Kim, open a ship-wide channel, with the exception of all members who are in a crew rest status. Post this message to them after they wake.”  
  
In Harry Kim's nearly two and a half years on Voyager, Janeway had only broadcast ship-wide via the 1MC twice. Usually, she posted information via computer or through her chain of command. It was unusual enough that the bridge crew looked up from their consoles in curiosity.  
  
“Channel open, Captain,” said Kim.  
  
Janeway cleared her throat, and began.  
  
“Attention all hands. This is Captain Janeway speaking. I am using the 1MC today to inform you of a challenge that I am issuing each and every one of you - an unusual challenge I think you will enjoy.”  
  
She paused a moment for effect, glancing at her first officer who was looking at her with a puzzled look. Good. Let him guess until she told them all.  
  
“On the advice of my morale officer, one week from today, Voyager will initiate its first ship-wide Olympics.” She paused again, took a breath, and continued.  
  
“The ship will be divided up into two teams, the Blue and the Gold. I will lead the Blue team. Commander Chakotay will captain the Gold.” She cast him another quick glance, but his face was unreadable.  
  
“The two teams will be determined by the computer, which has reviewed all personnel records to ensure there is a fair distribution of skills between the two teams. The computer has also selected thirty-five different competitive activities for the Olympics. They have been selected from various cultures and worlds that reflect the makeup of our crew.”  
  
By this time, the bridge crew was listening in earnest. She knew planning such an overtly physical event such as this was completely out of character for her; her perchance for pedagogical pursues over physical endeavors was well- known. She was surprised how much pleasure doing the unexpected gave her. She continued on.  
  
“The winning team will received a gold and latinum trophy. Their names will be engraved on it, and it will be placed in the dining facility for all to see.  
  
“The rules, team lists, events, schedules, and other errata is posted on the computer's communication board.”  
  
She let a smile sneak into her voice.  
  
“I wish you luck, and may the best team win. Out.”  
  
She paused, and then turned to her first officer.  
  
There was a spark of anger in his eyes - a spark she welcomed. Good. Some honest emotion for a change, rather than the perfunctory, “Yes ma'am, no ma'am,” she'd been getting from him for the last two months. She almost hoped he'd make an outburst, even if he were on the bridge.  
  
But all he said was, “Where are we going to find enough gold and latinum to make a trophy?”  
  
She only smiled, crossed her arms, and said, “Send Petty Officers Brazil and Phalen to my ready room, Commander. I'll be waiting for them.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Silver, gold, tintanium, trilithium, latinum, ferenium . a short list of elements that metallurgical researchers hadn't figured out how to replicate. And because of this, because of their rarity, their value in the universes only increased with each day.  
  
Voyager had been able to barter for small amounts of these elements for repair and renewal of Voyager's essential systems, but to use their minute supply for something as frivolous as a trophy to give to the winner of a series of sporting events was unthinkable.  
  
But Janeway had another option in mind. She'd hauled down the two containers that had sat untouched on the top shelf in her ready room storage unit since Voyager got underway so long ago. She knelt before them, pulling items wrapped in saclo out and placing them on the floor. Some of the objects were small enough to hold in the palm of a hand; others were as big as her forearm.  
  
She was still kneeling when her ready room doors opened and Brazil and Phalen entered.  
  
“Petty Officers Brazil and Phalen, reporting as ordered, Ma'am,” said Brazil, snapping to attention when they finally spotted her on the floor.  
  
Janeway stood, oddly nervous. “Ah, gentlemen, thank you for coming. Coffee?”  
  
The two men exchanged glances. “Er, no ... ma'am.”  
  
Janeway walked to the replicator. “I think I'll have a cup. Please, sit.”  
  
They did, side by side on the couch. Janeway sat across from them in the chair she usually saved for visitors. She studied them for moment. Physically, they couldn't be more different. Brazil was a huge, dark, physical Terran, coming from the country from which he drew his name; Phalen was almost albino pale, a Bajoran with weak eyes and a quick but sometimes cruel intellect. But essentially their physical attributes were their only significant differences. Both were Maquis, held identical political beliefs and goals, and served Chakotay with an unfailing loyalty. And both, since the wormhole, hated her passionately.  
  
Still, she had no choice. She needed them, and she would have to trust them.  
  
“Gentlemen, I've asked ... “ she smiled inside at this, as if a petty officer was ever `asked' to do anything by a captain “... you here because I want to ask you a favor.” She saw the flick of their eyes as they exchanged a glance. Brazil's lip curled.  
  
“You're askin' a favor of us?” There was both amusement and scorn in his voice.  
  
Inside, Janeway sighed. She had hoped it would be easier than this. She had been tempted to get Chakotay to do the asking for her, but it was a job that really couldn't be delegated.  
  
“Petty Officer Brazil, I understand you used to be a metal weaver before you joined the Maquis.”  
  
It was all Janeway could do to keep a straight face to the man's stunned reaction.  
  
“How did you - “  
  
“ I make it my business to know about my crew, Mr. Brazil.”  
  
The `my crew' reference wasn't lost on him. He glowered, and nodded.  
  
“Been workin' on phron steel for the Maquis, makin' the casings and all. But used to make body jewelry. Wristlets, ear bobs. Some plateware. Latinum, mostly. Some silver and gold.”  
  
Janeway gave him a brief nod.  
  
“And you helped him, Mr. Phalen?”  
  
The pale little man nodded, his eyes like blue chips of ice.  
  
Janeway looked away for a moment, fingers to lips, and then turned back to the crewmen.  
  
“I want to make this clear. If you do not wish to do what I ask, you do not have to do it; it's not an order. It's a favor.”  
  
The coldness in their faces eased a bit to be replaced by puzzlement. They exchanged another glance.  
  
“A favor. Aye, Ma'am.”  
  
Again, inside, Janeway sighed. She knew no matter what she said to them, they would do what she asked, but with unwholesome resentment - just what she was trying to avoid. She stood and walked to the two storage boxes.  
  
“Let me show you something,” she said, and began pulling out and unwrapping the objects.  
  
The smaller items were medals, some on bits of brightly colored ribbon, with raised lettering. They were for a variety of activities - physics and math awards, literature awards; commendation awards for excellence in leadership. Each one was made of some precious medal, either gold or latinum, and each one she placed in the two men's hands.  
  
Next, she began to unwrap the larger objects, small trophies engraved with Janeway's accomplishments. First prize, junior tennis league. Starfleet Academy's Phister Award for excellence in engineering. The Gronard P. Killard Award for Leadership.  
  
The hands of the two men were soon filled, but Janeway didn't stop there. At the bottom was a beautifully crafted plate, a mantelpiece, really, obviously handmade and of exceptionally value. She placed it in Phalen's hands. He read the inscription on the face of it.  
  
“To the Janeway Family in memory of Rear Admiral Robert Janeway, Starfleet. A grateful Federation remembers his courage, his honor and his sacrifice.”  
  
Janeway held her hands together to prevent them from trembling.  
  
“I'd like you to make a trophy, a bowl, with this for the winning team. I want it to be beautiful, something precious. Is this enough?” She raised her eyes to look directly into theirs. “Will you do it?”  
  
Brazil looked a Phalen, and then started piling the medals and trophies into the storage bin.  
  
“It's enough,” he said grudgingly. “Lotta work, if we do it right. Hand carving a mold, polishing, etching ... don't know how quick I can get it done. Gotta lot a other work to do.”  
  
Janeway smiled to herself wryly, knowing this was her cue.  
  
“I'll talk to Commander Chakotay. Perhaps we can adjust the duty roster to give you more time to work on this.”  
  
Brazil nodded, and started to put the lid on the box.  
  
“One more thing,” said Janeway quickly.  
  
The two looked up at her, caution on their faces. “I want where you got the metals to be kept in confidence. Just us. And you're never to tell anyone about what's written on those . things.”  
  
Brazil hoisted the box into his arms. “Aye, ma'am, if that's what you want.”  
  
Janeway fixed him with a hard stare, pressing home the point.  
  
“That's what I want.”  
  
Phalen and Brazil left, taking the last of her past with them.  
  


* * *

  
  
“You could have at least mentioned it to me,” said Chakotay, an edge to the distant calm he'd been portraying over the last two months. “You caught me completely off guard.”  
  
In the privacy of her ready room, Janeway let a note of impatience creep into her voice.  
  
“Captain's prerogative, Commander,” she said, seating herself behind her console. “And besides, the winner of these Olympics will win the Captain's Cup, not a Voyager's cup. It was a personal decision, not a ship's decision.” She shrugged. “Are you raising a complaint now?”  
  
Chakotay carefully modulated his voice, not allowing his annoyance at her making a decision that would make major demands on the crew's time without consulting him about it show. And then to have the gall to make him captain of one of the teams without even consulting him about it ...  
  
“No,” he said, coolly. “It surprised me, that's all.” Janeway smiled, a cool professional smile that let him know this part of the conversation was over.  
  
“Good. Now, I've programmed the computer to set up times for each of the events. Neelix is .”  
  
Chakotay only half listened. Damn the woman, he thought. She manipulated him, made him her co-conspirator, even while he pushed her away. It was all he could do not to throttle her.  
  


* * *

  
  
“It's one of her damn tricks, I tell ya.”  
  
Phalen walked their quarters like a lion paces its cage. Three steps, turn. Three steps, turn. Perhaps it would have been more steps in each direction, should their shared quarters have been larger, but as mere crewmen - in fact, as two of the most junior crewmen on Voyager - they shared bunked quarters and a head that was so small that, in the words, of Brazil's mother, you “met yourself” when you turned around.  
  
That they were at least twice as large as the quarters they shared with a third man aboard the small Maquis ship captained by Chakotay was a dubious point. That they had two long portholes that let in starlight when before they'd not had so much as a a porthole in any of the crew's quarters before didn't seem to matter. What galled was that these quarters were as mean as any aboard Voyager. They, as Maquis, got Spartan quarters.  
  
That junior Starfleet crew got identical quarters was a point Phalen chose to ignore.  
  
It was an issue that Brazil and Phalen has discussed on more than one occasion; in fact, it was one of their regular points of discussion. Janeway's unfairness to the Maquis.  
  
The Maquis got the smallest cabins. The Maquis got the scut work on Voyager.  
  
The Maquis would have been tossed into the brig, if Janeway had her way.  
  
“It's a Janeway trick,” Phalen repeated.  
  
Brazil, carefully put his padd down, and then began pulling the medals, plaques and trophies Janeway had given him out of the container, putting them on the bunk next to him.  
  
“Shut up, Phalen,” he said, not even looking up. “If it's a trick, I'm not smart enough to figure out why. She just trusted us with about four bars' worth of latinum. She gave us time off to work on it. I don't like her any more than you do, but trick?”  
  
Phalen stopped his pacing. He scratched his head, then ran both hands through his hair.  
  
“I just haven't figured it out. There's got to be an angle in this for her .”  
  
“Shut up, Phalen.” Brazil said it automatically, as if he'd said it a dozen times over the course of the evening.  
  
“Hand me that padd, will you?”  
  
Phalen handed him the padd, and then continued his pacing.  
  
“I'll say this for the bitch. She's got balls. Asking a favor, after what she did to us. Sticking us in this hole. Trying to put us in the brig.” He paused, anger building. “Damn. Do you think she has any idea how we feel about her? Some night, in a dark corridor .”  
  
“Shut up, Phalen. We've got work to do. I told her I'd have a rendering by tomorrow, and you're not helping. Weigh that stuff, will you? Not the facing material, you dolt, just the precious metals!”  
  
Brazil entered a few more data bits, saved his file, and tossed the padd on the bunk.  
  
“You know she probably fixed the games, don't you? Probably put all the good players on her team, picked the events her team is good at - Brazil, are you listening to me?”  
  
Brazil closed his eyes, trying to shut out his roommate's incessant chatter. He leaned back on his bunk.  
  
“Shut up, Phalen,” he said.

* * *

  
  
Not unexpectedly, there was grumbling about the rules, but Janeway refused to address it.  
  
Neelix, the chief organizer, arbiter, judge and referee for the games, had his inbox stuffed with questions and complaints just hours after Janeway's ship-wide announcement.  
  
Why was the number of games an individual could participate in limited to three?  
  
Why did every single member of the crew - even those who were known for their unathletic prowess - required to participate in at least one event?  
  
There was also much grumbling about the 35 different activities the computer chose. B'athlet dueling? Who besides B'Elanna had any experience with that deadly sport? The team that had her on it was sure to win. It was unfair, totally unfair! And why was Neelix the arbiter of any disagreement regarding interpretation of the rules? As a non-Alpha Quadrant resident, he didn't even have a clue about what the rules were!  
  
Even Tuvok questioned the wisdom of the computer's team-selecting abilities, suggesting that it might be wiser if he were on Captain Janeway's team rather than Commander Chakotay's.  
  
The arguing went on for the entire week before the games began, with more than a few grumblings that Janeway had slanted the computer programming in her team's favor.  
  
Janeway refused to budge on any of the complaints. She merely smiled and reminded the petitioners that it is impossible for a computer to be unfair, and that it's Mr. Neelix's job, as morale officer, to organize, judge, and interpret the rules. Did they wish to take on the responsibility of morale officer?  
  
Yes, there were complaints. But slowly, inexorably, some attitudes changed.  
  
Many of Janeway's Blue Team - not all, but enough that it made Janeway believe that maybe this Olympics was a good idea after all, that it might help bind the crew together - saved their replicator rations and had sleek blue uniforms made. Two days later, she heard rumors that some of the Gold Team, too, was replicating uniforms.  
  
For her part, she parted with her replicator rations to have several flags made, including the ancient Olympic flag, the blue-and-white flag of the Federation, and a flag from each of the worlds of the crewmembers on board. She then charged Harry with posting them at the opening ceremony. Even Chakotay admitted the opening event was moving. Janeway held the event at high noon, with the first of the three events - a wrestling event of some kind that Chakotay had never heard of - following immediately. Janeway kept her remarks short, merely dedicating the games to the crewmembers of Voyager and the Maquis ship who gave their lives for their beliefs.  
  
“ . and so, as commanding officer of the United Star Ship Voyager, I hereby proclaim the opening of these, the first Federation Olympic Games of the Delta Quadrant. Let the games begin!”  
  
The die was cast.  
  
For all the complaints from the crew, Voyager's computer and Neelix did their jobs with amazing results. There was never a time when one team was overwhelmed by the other. One team would win a game and get ahead, and the other team would redouble its efforts and pull ahead. Maybe it was wishful thinking on Janeway's part, but she could swear that Neelix's idea was working. When Janeway happened on conversations in the passageways, instead of immediate silence upon her arrival, the discourses continued. Torres' last parry with the Bath'lete. Paris's faulty footing during the fencing competition. The temperature of the water during the diving competition.  
  
So normal. So wholesome. A crew talking and working together. Could the plan be a success? Janeway crossed imaginary fingers. Maybe. Maybe she was getting her crew back.  
  
At least most of it.  
  


* * *

  
  
Brazil carefully wrapped saclo around the trophy, and then tucked it under his arm.  
  
“You're a fool, Brazil,” said Phalen from the depths of his bunk. Brazil turned and fixed the man with a stare.  
  
Phalen jumped from his bunk and took the wrapped trophy from Brazil's arms. He tossed it on the bunk.  
  
“You could have saved some of that latinum out, you know, not used all if it. She would have never noticed. You didn't need to spend so much time on it. Man oh man, night after night, shaping, polishing, carving - an' you not even making a credit off of it.”  
  
Phalen shook his head, crossing his arms.  
  
“Biggest fool I ever met.”  
  
Brazil's hooded eyes revealed nothing, but he stepped past Phalen and picked up the trophy. He started for the door.  
  
“You think she's even gonna thank you? You think she's gonna do any favors for you? You're Maquis, Brazil. You're always gonna be Maquis to her, no matter how many 'favors' you do for her. You can't trust her,” said Phalen, calling to Brazil's back, his voice rising. “Even Chakotay doesn't trust her!”  
  
Brazil stopped and turned to Phalen. He looked at the wrapped trophy and then at Phalen. He shrugged.  
  
“Mebbe. But what else we gonna do? We're all here together.”  
  
He left, a seething Phalen staring at the door.  
  


* * *

  
  
He was early for his appointment with Janeway, but he rang the door chime anyway, as if daring her to chastise him. The door opened immediately.  
  
“Ah! Brazil - Phalen isn't with you?” asked Janeway, looking behind him. Brazil shook his head, not bothering with a small social lie that would explain his assistant's absence.  
  
Instead, he handed Janeway the Captain's cup he'd been working on for the last two weeks.  
  
Janeway took it from his hands slowly, and then looked up into his face.  
  
“For some reason I didn't expect it to be so big,” she said, something secret in her eyes. She carried it to her  
  
console and began to carefully unwrap it. Her back was to Brazil, so he only heard the quick intake of her breath, not the reason for it.  
  
“You saw the drawings,” he said, defensively.  
  
Janeway picked up the trophy and held it to her chest. It was perfect, a beautiful masterpiece of intricately hand- carved metal. Brazil and Phalen must have worked nearly non-stop to have it ready. She bowed her head a moment, and then turned to Brazil.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, her voice tight. “My family would be proud of what you've done with those bits of metal.” She swallowed, and Brazil noticed her eyes were very bright. “This is an incredible piece of art, Mr. Brazil. You have a talent.”  
  
Brazil gave her a quick nod, then shifted from one foot to the other, then blurted it out.  
  
“I'd like a favor, Captain. Like you said, this is just a favor.”  
  
Janeway cast a glance down at the trophy, knowing there was very little she could deny him.  
  
“What it is, Mr. Brazil?” Brazil looked her in the eye.  
  
“I wanna borrow your Academy tapes. Engineering - Professor T'rel.”  
  
Janeway's surprise was so great she nearly dropped the trophy. “T'rel's lectures? The only lecture tapes I have is of his advanced warp engineering class. That's a senior honors class. The library has some excellent texts on warp core theory .”  
  
Brazil shook his head. “Read 'em. Know 'em. Need the tapes.”  
  
The things that were going on in her ship that she had no idea about. Brazil an engineer? There was nothing in his record about it. Not that the Maquis' records were anywhere near complete .  
  
Janeway raised her chin, looking Brazil straight in the eye.  
  
“Mr. Brazil, it would be my pleasure to loan the tapes to you. And if you have any questions, please let me know. I used to tutor warp core theory. I'd be more than happy to help you.”  
  
Brazil gave Janeway a quick nod, and left, leaving his Captain standing with the trophy made up of bits of her past folded in her arms.  
  


* * *

  
  
Janeway wondered later why she hadn't thought of this possibility before. Voyager's computers were among the best the Federation had ever developed. When she had developed the program to compose teams of equal skills for the Olympics, it had considered tens of thousands of factors that no handicapper would have ever thought of. And while luck is an uncontrollable component in all sports which might have lead to an unexpected outcome, she still shouldn't have been surprised by this.  
  
Thirty-four games into the Olympics, the score was 17 wins for the Blue Team, and 17 wins for the Gold Team. A tie.  
  
She'd thought about that possibility when she and Neelix had set up the games. That's why she'd planned on an odd number of games.  
  
But she hadn't thought of this.  
  
She'd been a devoted attendee of the games, making a showing at all of them, although work pulled her away from watching them all to completion. She knew that Chakotay went to all the games, too, but, like her, hadn't participated in any of them.  
  
And there it was, her own rule.  
  
`All team members must participate in at least one game.'  
  
Which is how she came to face Chakotay across the palmball court in the game that would determine which team would be the winner of the first Voyager Olympics.  
  
There was no doubt he was of superior strength, and his height was a definite advantage, but Janeway had a quickness, a craftiness honed by years of tennis that made them an equal match.  
  
He scored the first three points quickly, power-balls that reverberated off the rear wall and bounced over her before she even had time to react. But the next ball she was able to return, a sly, slow ball that dropped to the floor almost immediately after it struck the wall. Chakotay dove for it, but wasn't able to return it.  
  
Chakotay, three. Janeway, one.  
  
The next one was Janeway's point, too, a surprise curve ball that seemed to jump from her opponent's hand and bounce away.  
  
It went on that way, Chakotay's superior strength allowing him to earn points by sheer strength, Janeway's dodging and nimbleness allowing her to place a ball on the court in locations Chakotay couldn't possibly get to in time to return.  
  
The audience was quiet, with none of the cat calls and cheering that punctuated the other games that were played. Instead, there was only an occasional groan when Janeway missed a ball, or a faint hiss of disapproval when she was able to return one of Chakotay's power balls.  
  
Some small part of her mind told Janeway that this was more than the final game of the Olympics, the telling game of which team would win; it was an acting out of the animosity that had grown on the ship since the Alpha Quadrant. She didn't know a win on her part would be more, or less healing. Whatever, she knew she would do her best for her own motley team of Starfleet and Maquis crew members.  
  
The sweat dripped down her arms and damped her hair.  
  
She let herself cast a quick glance at Chakotay. He had barely broken a sweat, and for a brief second she thought perhaps he was giving the game to her, allowing her to win for some reason known only to himself. But then, she remembered hearing his grunt of effort as he struck the ball or dove for her returns. No, he wanted to win this game as much as she did - maybe even more so, and he wouldn't be worrying about how the outcome would effect the well-being of the crew.  
  
And then they were even.  
  
It had been a back-and-forth battle from the first point, Chakotay easing past Janeway, and she catching up. And then they were one point from game, tied at 23 points each.  
  
It was Janeway's serve, and Chakotay crouched before her, ready to return the ball. He heard the slap of palm again ball, and saw the ball hit the front wall. He jumped forward, and then realized he'd made a tactical error, and leaped back - directly into Janeway.  
  
He almost paused, distracted, but instead he reached up, smacked the ball, and positioned himself quickly to return Janeway's ball.  
  
Instead, his own ball boomeranged off the back wall, and then bounced purposeless away.  
  
Janeway hadn't returned his ball. He'd won. Gold team had won.  
  
As his team roared its approval, and began to jump down into the palmball court, Chakotay turned to see captain on the deck, hands to her face, trying to stem the blood that spurted from her nose. In two steps, he was next to her, looking into her face to see eyes that were slightly mocking, pain-filled.  
  
He tapped her comm badge.  
  
“Chakotay to the Doctor. Captain Janeway has had a slight accident. Please beam her to sickbay.”  
  
And in a shimmer of light, she was gone.  
  
On the palmball court, the crowd had jumped from their seats, loser and winners mingling, cheering and commiserating. Behind him, Chakotay felt a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Nice play, Chakotay,” said Torres. “I couldn't have done it better myself.”  
  
Chakotay turned quickly. “I thought you didn't play palmball.”  
  
Torres grinned. “I don't. But that was a play I wouldn't mind learning.”  
  
There was something unpleasant in Torres' voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.  
  
“I'm not sure I know what you mean, B'Elanna. It was an accident.”  
  
Torres' grin grew bigger. “Of course it was.”  
  
Chakotay looked from the engineer to Kim, standing behind her. The operation officer's face, transparent as glass, reflected his doubt.  
  
“Commander, if you have a moment, I would like to talk to you.”  
  
Chakotay whirled to see Tuvok standing there. Chakotay's stomach clenched.  
  
They thought he'd intentionally knocked the Captain down, that he'd wanted to hurt her.  
  
Is that what she thought?  
  
He pushed past Tuvok and through the crowd. “Commander, I wish to discuss - “  
  
Tuvok's words were lost as the holodeck's doors hissed shut.  
  
Chakotay walked down the passageway toward the turbolift, every step quicker than the last. Torres, Kim, Tuvok - maybe Paris, but who knew what was going on behind those blue eyes. How many others thought that he had intentionally struck his Captain, using a misstep during the palmball game to camouflage such an unpardonable act? Was his animosity toward the Captain so visible that the crew thought he would actually injure her? Every word he spoke to her was correct, without animosity. Every task assigned was expeditiously and properly completed. He saw to it that the crew was well-occupied and disciplined. He performed as the perfect First Officer. There was nothing he had done that might have been construed as anything but appropriate. How could they think he would do anything so mutinous?  
  
But even as he stepped into the turbolift that would take him to sickbay, he knew the answer, and he felt his face grow hot with shame.  
  
He'd been the worst first officer possible. He'd left his Captain to hang twisting in the wind.  
  
A dozen conversations played themselves out in his mind, conversations he'd heard about the Captain and Voyager's crew as he sat sipping coffee in the dining facility or when he visited Sandrine's. Looking back, they were vile words, filled with bitterness and venom.  
  
“She just used the Maquis because it was convenient for her. Come a choice between us, you know she'll cast us aside, just as she did before ... If it weren't for Chakotay and B'Elanna, this ship would be only space debris ... Maquis don't know the difference between a microwrench and a supernova ... damn Starfleet, with their heads up their asses ... “  
  
There were variations on this conversation, but generally they were the same - against Janeway, against the Starfleet, against the Maquis. It was no wonder that the ship was schismed, that Janeway was at her wit's end to come up with a way to bring the ship back together again.  
  
He felt his blush deepen. Janeway, who still struggled to put her life back together. Janeway, who had given her life for this crew, Starfleet and Maquis alike. In fact, now that he thought of it, more than half of the crewmembers she had exchanged herself for had been Maquis.  
  
“Computer, stop turbolift.”  
  
Chakotay put his hand over his face. He'd been witness to all this, witness to the pettiness, the unfair comments of his crew, and he'd not done a thing to stop it. He'd never chastised Brazil for his rowdy, anti-Starfleet ditties he sang when he thought only Maquis were about. He'd never taken Phalen aside and told him to stop making derogatory comments about the sexual predilections of Starfleet officers. He'd never reproved B'Elanna for her surly behavior.  
  
His failure to do so had basically endorsed their behavior.  
  
Worst of all, he had personally failed her.  
  
He left her with no friends to turn to, adrift, just as Voyager was drift in the Delta Quadrant. She hadn't asked for what had been served her. She hadn't asked to be cast here, alone, with no support or assistance from Starfleet. Everyday, she made impossible, life-and-death decisions that might crush a lesser Captain under the weight of the implication of her choice. Years with the Maquis had taught him many things, including the fine art of subversion. Without saying a word, without a single overt action, he'd been able to articulate to the crew how he felt about Janeway.  
  
It hadn't been intentional. Well, at least not consciously intentional. He'd only meant to hurt her a little, to show he how much she'd hurt him when she'd confined him to his cabin. He wanted to show her that the trust they'd had was shattered.  
  
He struck the turbolift's wall with his fist. He hadn't meant his personal feelings to permeate the atmosphere of the whole ship.  
  
At least, not consciously.  
  
Yet it had come to this, to a point that an accident was turned into an act of suspected mutiny. “Computer, start turbolift.”  
  
What he would say to her, he had no idea, but he had make sure she knew he hadn't meant to hurt her. At least, not this time.  
  
The sickbay doors opened with a familiar hiss in time for him to hear the Doctor's diagnosis.  
  
“ . a break, Captain, but nothing serious. Some slight tenderness for a day or two, but nothing to be concerned about.”  
  
The Doctor was turning away from Janeway, who lay on a biobed, gently exploring her nose with her fingers.  
  
“Ah, Commander Chakotay. Congratulations on your win,” said the Doctor, a slight sarcasm in his voice. “A unique strategy, decking your opponent. Is that a Maquis ploy or something you learned on Voyager?”  
  
Chakotay fixed him with a cold glare. Damn, damn, damn. Even the holographic Doctor believed that he'd intentionally injured the Captain. Or was that what she'd told him? It didn't bode well.  
  
“I believe,” Chakotay said, his voice filled with frost, “that as Voyager's First Officer I deserve to be treated with respect rather than innuendoes and sarcasm.”  
  
Voyager's First Officer. It was time he started acting like it.  
  
The Doctor tossed down his medical tricorder at the affront and turned away without a word.  
  
Janeway sat up, legs dangling over the edge of the biobed.  
  
“I believe you may have hurt his feelings,” she said, amusement in her voice. “He hates to be corrected - especially when he's wrong.”  
  
“You'd think after two years .” Chakotay let his voice trail off. He didn't care about the Doctor; didn't want to talk about the Doctor. “I came to make sure you were all right.”  
  
Janeway stood up, gingerly touching her nose. “Not the first time I've broken my nose. Judo, at the academy. Easily repaired,” she said. She swept her hands through her hair, tightening fasteners that had become loosened during their game. “Well, congratulations, Commander. Gold team wins. When shall we have the trophy presentation? We'll have to give Brazil and Phalen a little time to engrave all the names . two days? I think we should make this a formal - “  
  
“Captain!”  
  
Janeway stopped abruptly, surprised that her First Officer would interrupt her. She waited for him to say what was on his mind.  
  
“Captain .” He let his eyes drift from her face to a point over her shoulder, gathering his courage, burying the shame he felt that he should even have to speak of this to her. “Captain, there are some on board who think I struck you intentionally.”  
  
Janeway dropped her arms to her side, and sighed.  
  
“Yes. Well. We can't help what people think, Chakotay.” Had she hesitated before she spoke? Or was it his imagination? Surely - oh gods, please don't let it be so, that he had failed so much in his duty as first officer, that she, too, had doubts. Did she think that he intentionally struck her?  
  
“I should have been more careful. Perhaps I got too caught up in the game,” he said.  
  
Janeway patted his arm, starting for the door. “Think nothing of it, Commander.”  
  
A voice in the back of his mind began to scream at him. Don't let her go out that door! Fix it! Fix it! You contributed to breaking this ship! You were a part of setting Maquis against Starfleet .  
  
She was almost to the door then, a second away from them hissing open. She would walk through, and then she'd be gone, the moment lost. His heart began to beat fast. Don't lose her!  
  
“Captain!”  
  
Janeway turned, standing in the open doorway, her look quizzical.  
  
“Captain, there's a few thing I'd like to discuss with you - ship's matters, the closing ceremony. It's . it's late now .perhaps tomorrow morning?”  
  
Janeway lowered her chin slightly eyes falling to the floor, and then lifted them to look straight into his face. “My ready room, zero seven hundred, Commander. You buy the coffee.”  
  
And then she was gone, the doors hissing behind her.  
  


* * *

  
  
It had been more than two months since they'd sat like this, coffee on the low table in front of them, handing padds back and forth, talking of the ship's maintenance and personnel rotations, crew evaluations, and a thousand other details that needed attention every day for Voyager to operation smoothly. They had, of course, discussed these things since the fiasco of the Alpha Quadrant, but never in the Captain's ready room, never alone. Much of their communication was by c-mail, responded to in polite Federation-ese, never touched with humor or personal detail. This meeting, what Chakotay thought of as an undeclared truce between them, was cordial, cool, containing none of the friendly bantering about the best coffee mix or speculation about romantic coupling among the crew that had marked their conversations in the past.  
  
No, as far as breaking down the barriers between them - barriers neither was willing to dispense with - this first- civil-meeting-in-months did little.  
  
It did, however, have a profound impact on the crew. It was discussed, dissected, and analyzed. What did it mean? Was it a fluke, not to be repeated? Or was this a return to the “old” ways, when Janeway and Chakotay were a team? The closing ceremony and the presentation of the trophy to the winning Gold Team took place the following day in the dining facility.  
  
A small part of Janeway held her breath as she watched the gathering. She studied each of the faces in turn, looking for a shadow of surliness, of resentment. But even when Chakotay teased B'Elanna about knowing how much she hated to lose, but how that wasn't going to stop him from accepting the trophy, there were only chuckles and light laughter among the crew, with a few calls of, “Better luck next time” and “Next year will be different.” At the back of the room, Neelix stood with arms crossed, eyes twinkling. Janeway caught his eye and smiled at him. He said something, and Janeway, no lip reader, couldn't figure out the meaning. And then she looked around again, at the crew, slapping each other on the backs, posing with Brazil's trophy, and realized what he'd mouthed to her. We won.  
  
They'd won.  
  
Who would have thought that an alien who had never even met any member of any of the Federated worlds would know how help put them back together after two months of ignoble sniping at each other. Who would of thought that Neelix, for all his irritating ways and foolish posturing would know how to heal people whose wounds seemed too deep to salve. Instead of a crew united in this trek home, she'd had a crew of individuals, resentful of her and of each other, the focus of their purpose lost.  
  
She looked around her again, and felt her eyes begin to sting. It was too much to ask that the crew would be like they were before the misadventure of the Alpha Quadrant, but the Olympics had been a quantum leap forward.  
  
She crossed her arms, and, holding Neelix's gaze, grinned broadly.  
  


* * *

  
  
When Chakotay strode into the Captain's ready room, padds in hand, he found her standing on an overturned storage container, balancing on the toes of one foot, stretching to reach the top of the shelving unit behind her console. It was a disaster in the making, and he didn't have to wait too long to witness it.  
  
Off-balance, she caught herself on a lower shelf, knocking precisely organized and neatly stacked computer disks over, which began a daisy chain reaction, sending the small, colorful objects cascading over Janeway's head and onto the floor.  
  
The two of them stood where they were, helpless, knowing that any move they might make might make it worse, watching the chips fall as they may, until finally the room was still. Janeway, finally flat-footed on here makeshift stool, looked about her, such a look of dismay on her face that Chakotay found it difficult to keep a straight face.  
  
“If you had waited,” he said solemnly, “I would have helped you.”  
  
Janeway stepped down from the container, and sat on it, shoulders drooping.  
  
“I didn't think I needed any help,” she said.  
  
Chakotay put down his padds and began helping her pick up the disks, sorting them the best he could and stacking them in neat piles.  
  
“What were you looking for up there?” he asked, his natural curiosity outweighing his reserve.  
  
Janeway sighed. “I'd promised Brazil I would pull some of my old academy lecture tapes - “  
  
“Brazil wanted lecture tapes?” said Chakotay, interrupting her in his surprise. “What kind of lecture tapes?”  
  
Janeway gave him a sideways grin. “Engineering. He said he's read all the warp theory - “  
  
“Brazil?”  
  
“ - books that were in the library, and wanted to watch some of Professor T'rel's lectures from his advanced warp engineering class.”  
  
Chakotay stared at her. “Petty officer Brazil, right? Dark guy, built like a hundred year oak, never talks?” Janeway laughed. “I know who he is, Chakotay. Why does this surprise you so much? He's very smart, really interested in engineering.”  
  
“I - I guess we never got around to talking about that.” He shook his head. “I guess I don't know my people as well as I thought I did.”  
  
And then he realized what he'd said. My people, my Maquis. He'd resolved not to needle Janeway, to establish a better working relationship between the two of them and within the ship, and then he let this “your” and “my” slip into the conversation. He cast a quick glance at his Captain.  
  
For whatever reason, she chose to ignore his remark.  
  
He let out a long silent breath.  
  
From her seat, Janeway reached up to hand a stack of disks to Chakotay so he could replace them on a shelf - a lower one, this time.  
  
“I knew I put that series in the back, it's kind of basic stuff and knew I'd probably never look at it so - good heavens! Vice Admiral Smith! You'd think I'd remember a simple name like that!” Chakotay frowned, trying to follow her mercurial conversation.  
  
“Beg pardon?” he said.  
  
Janeway stood, holding the disk in her hand.  
  
“Vice Admiral Smith! Haven't thought of him in twenty years, then he popped into mind a couple of weeks ago. He was a guest lecturer in my `Psychology of Leadership' course in graduate school. Absolutely ancient, spoke about the Varpapian uprising. Remember him?”  
  
Chakotay shook his head. “I didn't take that course.” Janeway tapped the disk on her lips.  
  
“I remember reading about him. The Federation lost 27 ships during the uprising - 27 ships lost with all hands. Smith was the only one to bring his ship and crew back, overcoming the odds, despite it all. He talked about - “  
  
Seemingly oblivious to his presence, Janeway walked to the console to slip the slim disk into the computer.  
  
Immediately, the face of an ancient Terran appeared, skin mapped with a million wrinkles, watery and weak pale blue eyes rimmed with pink. Curious, Chakotay stood behind Janeway, watching the viewscreen.  
  
There must have been a flaw in the disk because instead of the introductory academy graphic all lecture tapes had, it began during what must have been the question and answer part of the lecture.  
  
“ - how did you come up with the idea of cultivating a common dislike for you as means to bind your crew together? Wasn't it possible that it might have the opposite effect? Your crew might fall apart, or even worse, mutiny?”  
  
The question came from an impossibly young Vulcan Ensign, his name plate unreadable, who spoke so dispassionately about crumbling crews and mutiny that Chakotay knew that he'd never served aboard a Starfleet vessel.  
  
“For all our problems, young man, I knew I could trust my crew. They would do their duty. They swore to protect the Federation. They were Starfleet officers. They were my men and women. They might hate me, but they would never mutiny. Never. Never.”  
  
Intrigued, Chakotay leaned closer. Imagine believing in your crew so much, even while they hated you to your very bones. Imagine cultivating their hatred, and still believing in them so.  
  
A young C'Hellan raised her hand and was recognized by the Admiral. She stood, obviously touched by the lecture. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Perhaps she was thinking about the ship and crew she would command one day, and wondering if she would be up to the task.  
  
“Admiral,” she paused, as if the question was too difficult to ask. She cleared her throat, and began again. “Admiral, how could you do it, how could you make them hate you? How could you go on day after day, month after month, without friends, with anyone to turn to? How could you be so alone?”  
  
There was a pause, the vidcam lingering on the C'Hellan, and then the Admiral appeared on the screen, his face contorted with emotions Chakotay could only guess at. “How could I do it, young woman? I think the question is, 'how could I not'? They were my crew, entrusted to me by Starfleet. Entrusted to me by their mothers and fathers. They were my responsibility. I would do everything in my power to keep them safe, to keep them alive. I would die for them.” Chakotay saw him swallow, as if he was having trouble speaking. “What I did . was nothing more than what Starfleet expected of me when they made me captain of the Kensington. Keep them safe, get them through.” He paused again, and Chakotay saw he was silently crying. “It was the hardest and the easiest thing I'd ever done. I loved them all. I would do anything to keep them alive - “  
  
Janeway touched the computer's control panel, and the screen went blue abruptly.  
  
“I'd forgotten,” she said, her voiced subdued. “Although I don't know how I could have.”  
  
She stood abruptly, and turned, almost bumping into Chakotay. She looked down at the deck for a second or two, and then up into his face.  
  
“Why don't we skip our meeting this morning, Commander? Unless there's something hot you want to discuss?” Chakotay shook his head, finding it strangely difficult to meet her eyes.  
  
“No, nothing that can't wait. This will give me some extra time with B'Elanna to work out the engineering crew rotation.”  
  
“Very well.”  
  
Chakotay turned on his heels and escaped, the image of an ancient Vice Admiral, weeping for his crew, playing itself in his mind.  
  
Not by design, but by incident, Janeway and Chakotay saw little of each other that day. A power coupling developed a leak in storage bay three, and since it adjoined essential life support systems, Janeway assigned Chakotay to oversee the repairs. As soon as they had repaired one leak, another sprung up, followed by another, and it took them the better part of the shift to find the underlying problem and fix it. By the time Chakotay reported to the bridge, Janeway had turned over the watch to Tuvok, who logged in the repair meticulously.  
  
It wasn't until later, after he'd eaten a Spartan dinner of some of Neelix's foreign vegetables and wheat berries (or what, at least, looked like wheat berries) and had showered to get rid of the grit of easium residue accumulated from spending the better part of a day in a Jeffries tube that he allowed the thoughts that had been trying to crowd into his head lose.  
  
When he closed his eyes, the old Admiral's face swam before him, tear stained and grief stricken.  
  
I loved them . I would do anything to keep them alive. That old man - well, he wasn't an old man when he'd captained the Kensington, he must have been about Chakotay's age, Janeway's age - had intentionally, purposefully turned his own crew against him to bind them together in a single goal of hatred. Imagine, hundreds of light years away from home, in what was essentially a suicide mission, with no one to share your fears, your anxieties. Instead, everywhere you turned, there was only loathing in the faces of your crew.  
  
Chakotay got up from his bed and began pacing the length of his quarters. Some small bits of memories rose up in his mind about Smith, something about . wasn't he a Federation Medal of Honor winner? Chakotay stopped at his console and logged into Voyager's library. Yes, there it was - Smith, Gerrold Keith Windsor, Vice Admiral, Retired. Born: 2356 Died: 2472.  
  
A long list of honors followed, including the Federation Medal of Honor for his service in the Varpapian uprising. Chakotay began scrolling through the lengthy biography, a summary of a highly distinguished career, and then stopped abruptly. Shortly after Smith had been called home from the uprising, he'd spend more than three months in R'Allance on Vulcan. R'Allance. There wasn't a Starfleet officer who didn't know what R'Allance was. The polite called it a rest facility; the crass called it a “loony bin.” In truth, it was something in between - a place where officers and crew recovered from the nightmares Starfleet service could sometimes bring.  
  
Chakotay flipped off his computer, and continued his pacing. No wonder the poor man needed some rest. The Varpapian uprising had been horrifying, stomach-wrenching. After being subdued for more that three decades, the Varpapii had figured out a way to circumvent the satellite security links that kept them in their own universe. They started raiding nearby systems, kidnapping hundreds, then thousands of beings and then.  
  
The Federation answered the calls for help from the residents of the nearby systems, sending 27 Starfleet ships to that distant, little-know part of space. Twenty-seven Starfleet ships, with captains and crews that knew absolutely nothing about what they were getting themselves into.  
  
The Varpapii were the only race Starfleet had ever come across who had absolutely no fear of death. They attacked in small, well-armed ships by the thousands, swarms of death, never retreating. The only thing that stopped them was the absolute destruction of their ships.  
  
Millions of the race had died by Starfleet hands, victim of phasers and photons and other methods of mass destruction rained on them by the ships of Starfleet before the uprising was put down.  
  
Chakotay wondered what psychological toll was inflicted on the crews of those Starfleet ships as they slaughtered millions of Varpapii beings. He remembered reading how the hulls of Starfleet ships ran purplish-red with the blood of Varpapii who had been blown apart by Starfleet phasers. No wonder some of the crews hesitated when it came to firing on the Varpapian ships. Genocide is never pretty.  
  
But that was only part of it. Chakotay's stomach churned at the thought of all the Starfleet people who had died at the hands of the Valparsii.  
  
Died, yes. Some had just died, their body fluids boiled away in the vacuum of space when Varpapian suicide vessels penetrated the hulls of Starfleet ships. Those crewmen were the lucky ones. They died almost instantly. There were others who weren't so lucky. Others who were captured, penned in unspeakable conditions, and then eaten alive by the literally blood-thirsty Valparsii. Fingers and toes bitten off, ears . sometimes, it took days for one of the Valparsii's “meals” to be consumed, days for one of their victims to die . no wonder the thought of such a death drove good Starfleet men and women to the brink of madness.  
  
Couple this knowledge with the thought that, as Captain of a Starfleet ship-of-the-line, you were responsible for the lives of each and every member of your crew. And each person who died - whether they were one of your crew or one of the people you were sent to protect - was a mark on a tally sheet of failure.  
  
No wonder Smith had become an icon to some. By sheer force of will, he'd brought his crew home - the only one of 27 captains who had - and was responsible for saving the lives of thousands from Varpapian attacks.  
  
Chakotay put a hand over his eyes. Shame washed over him. Smith's story was so very much like Janeway's - although she never had a choice about her crew hating her - that it made his heart ache. Isolation in a savage universe. A surly and belligerent crew. Little hope for aid.  
  
In the end, it had nearly crushed Smith. What must it be like for Janeway?  
  
Why had it taken him so long to see how wrong he'd been? Not just when Janeway came to his quarters to ask that she be forgiven for her non-existent sin of “betraying” him, but for his behavior every day since then, when he'd made it clear to the crew, to the Maquis, that he served Janeway only because he had sworn to do so?  
  
The scene in his quarters, more than two months ago, replayed itself in his mind. “Can you forgive me?” she'd said. And that look in her eyes, a look that he knew was love, love for him, but also for her crew.  
  
If he had been a better man, he would have said, “Captain, there is nothing to forgive.” But instead, he had turned her away. She'd been forced into the only decision that protected the lives of all her crew, Starfleet and Maquis, distasteful as it was. And, like all the rest of the crew, she'd then been wrenched from her home. She'd lost her lover and her family, as well as her precious Starfleet.  
  
Instead of helping her, supporting her, appreciating that she'd made this untenable decision to secure part of her crew for the moment instead of taking the easier alternatives that more than probably would have meant their deaths .  
  
Janeway was no fool. She would have known how the Maquis would take to her decision. She would have known they'd developed a hatred of her that would be difficult to assuage. He also knew that she had been relying on him to help her. “Make them understand,” she'd said. Make them understand that she was saving their lives.  
  
Chakotay sat on the edge of bed, head in hands. Fap. He'd accused her of betraying him, and in truth, it had been he who had betrayed her. In those weeks before they had discovered the wormhole, when the two of them had sat side- by-side over endless cups of coffee, Janeway haltingly telling him of what Cullah and his henchmen had done to her, Janeway exposing her vulnerabilities to him - he'd taken advantage of her, used the closeness that had grown between them as a tool to hurt, to maim.  
  
If there was a schism on this ship, if the Maquis scorned and treated Janeway with what edged on disrespect, he was responsible. Some Starfleet Officer he was. Some first officer. Some man.  
  
He knew he'd get no sleep that night.  
  


* * *

  
  
Neelix and Ensign De Wynne from stellar cartography had long departed Janeway's ready room for a night's sleep, leaving Voyager's captain and first officer to ponder over the star maps and recommendations left behind. For every course the four of them had considered, they'd found at least three reasons not to go that way. Evidence of huge black holes, so powerful they'd suck any matter within a light year down its maw. Nebulas so unstable that one path through them might be safe one nanosecond, deadly the next. Territories inhabited by vicious warrior races. Rogue comets that emitted strange deadly radiation readings. The course they'd finally decided on was one that Janeway dubbed the “Rule-Out route;” they'd ruled out all the other routes, and they were going to take the only one left.  
  
It wasn't a ringing endorsement, as far as a way to determine which way to go, but when pushed to comment on what he knew about the route, Neelix, Voyager's self- appointed guide, would only say he hadn't heard anything bad about that part of space - nothing good, to be sure, but also nothing bad.  
  
Finally, decision made, Janeway touched the control button to switch off the holographic star map display, rubbed her eyes with fingertips and then ran her hands through her hair, loosening wisps from their fastenings. She sighed, closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “Some days are longer than others, Chakotay. Have you noticed that?”  
  
He chuckled and leaned forward to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing the curve of it. The action had been so automatic, he'd given it no thought. It wasn't until his hand was gripped with strong fingers, holding his hand in place, did he realize what he's done. Slowly, she pulled his hand down, and released her grip. She turned her face from him.  
  
“Captain, please accept my apology. It was a reflex. My mother's hair used to fall forward like that .”  
  
Janeway waved her hand, still facing away from him. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Chakotay. It just surprised me, that's all.” And then she said something very quietly, so quietly he almost missed it. It wrenched his heart. “It's been a long time since anyone's touched me like that.”  
  
The room was silent for a five count, save for the background noises of the ship, and then Janeway stood up, smoothing hair away from her face and refastening it. When she turned to face him, her face was expressionless. “We'll talk to Tom and Harry about the new route tomorrow,” she said.  
  
Chakotay nodded, standing and gathering his padds. She was dismissing him. “I'll ask Ensign de Wynne to see if she can get us any more detail on the route.” He stopped at the door, turning to his Captain. She had her back to him as she looked out the long portholes into space.  
  
“Good night, Captain.”  
  
The doors hissed shut.  
  
“Good night, Chakotay,” she said to the empty room.


	2. Chapter 2

His bed was filled with rocks, his pillow a slab of mortar.  For the third time in an hour, he pounded his pillow to break out imaginary lumps to make it soft enough so he could sleep. Unfortunately, these rocks, these lumps, were fabrications of his imagination, and no amount of battery on his bed would soften them.  
  
Sleep had been refusing his invitation all night.  Instead, wakefulness had come uninvited, allowing his conscious mind to play havoc.  
  
Damn her.  Damn Janeway.  
  
All these months, she'd never said a word to chastise him, to correct his attitude, yet he couldn't remember when he'd felt so thoroughly censured as he did now.  
  
He finally gave up on sleep, and attempted to meditate, but for the first time in many months, he found that impossible, too.  Every time he tried to relax, Janeway's face popped into his mind's eye and he heard her voice.  
  
"It's been a long time since anyone's touched me like that - "  
  
Chakotay sighed.  He'd touched her once like that, months ago, when, emotionally wracked, she'd confessed to him all that Cullah and Seska had done to her.  He'd held her all night, her exhaustion even dampening the horrendous dreams he knew she had.  
  
Since then - she'd kissed him, briefly, once.  At that moment, he'd thought it was possible that they might be able to start on a new path together, that they might move to a new place together in their lives, but a wormhole had put an end to that.  
  
He sighed again.  In four hours, he had to be on duty on the bridge, and it wouldn't do to be responsible for a ship and crew with his reactions slowed by tiredness.  Perhaps physical exhaustion might help him sleep.  He headed for the holodecks.  
  
He hadn't bothered to reserve a holodeck, thinking there would be at least one available at 0330, but to his surprise, they were all occupied.  
  
Two had privacy locks engaged, but some user or users in the third who didn't mind company had left the "welcome" light on the control panel, which allowed others to join whatever program was running.  Chakotay tapped the control panel, hoping a program was running that would at least allow him a trail to run on.  
  
He saw immediately why whoever was running this program didn't bother engaging the security lock.  It was a beach scene, with a single swimmer out beyond the breaking surf.  He could tell it was a woman, but that was the only thing he could determine about the swimmer's identity.  
  
Shrugging, he began stretching.  The hologram programmer - the swimmer - had included a wide, firm sandy beach, and he intended to take advantage of it.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he felt his frustrations begin to melt.  Whoever who had developed this program had done a skillful job, keeping the sun at an angle so as not to blind participants with its glare.  A dry, cool breeze that whipped away sweat made running comfortable.  
  
Out at sea, his ad hoc exercise companion changed her stroke, turning on her side, face away from him.  He noticed two dolphins swam with her, never splashing, but pacing her, helping the swimmer keep her rate constant.  
  
It was half an hour later that he finally slowed his own pace and stopped, noticing that the swimmer had stopped as well, sitting on the beach to let sun and breeze dry her suit and hair.  For some reason, it didn't surprise him to see it was Janeway.  He jogged over to her, and knelt in the sand.  
  
"Thank you for sharing your program, Captain.  Good running beach."  
  
Janeway nodded, looking at him, then out at the ersatz sea she had created.  "Sometimes I run, but tonight I thought a swim was in order. It gives me a good workout."  
  
Chakotay's gaze followed her own.  "A little cool for swimming, don't you think?"  
  
He heard Janeway chuckle.  "My parents used to take my sister and me to Finland in the winter for dips in the frozen lakes.  This is nothing."  
  
They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Chakotay slowly reached up and traced the curve of her ear with a fingertip.  If Janeway was startled or surprised, she didn't show it.  She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together.  
  
"I was so angry with you," he said softly.  "So hurt.  I couldn't think straight.  That you would choose your duty over whatever we had together - "  
  
"Love."  She said it so softly, it was a caress.  "I love you."  She opened her eyes and turned to him.  "I didn't know until that damn dog jumped into Mark's lap - it was such a relief knowing I wouldn't be going back to him."  
  
Chakotay let his fingers slide down to her cheek.  She shivered, but from the coolness of the breeze or his touch, he couldn't tell.  
  
"I knew the first time I saw you on my viewscreen." He gave a small self-deprecating laugh.  "Talk about ambivalence!  I wanted to strangle you and make love to you at the same time! You were the enemy.  You brought news of Tuvok's betrayal to me.  You wanted to stop me from freeing my people.  You wanted to imprison me and my crew."  
  
A shadow flickered in her eyes.  "I can't apologize for doing my job, Chakotay."  
  
Chakotay cupped her face in his hands, holding his breath that she wouldn't push him away, stop him from what he needed to tell her.  
  
"Never apologize for doing your duty, Captain.  I was so wrong to be angry with you, to be hurt by your decisions.  I was so selfish.  I failed in my own duty to you.  Any other captain would have keelhauled me -"  
  
She chuckled.  "Keelhauled?  Well, maybe that's a little extreme - but I'm sure they would have missed having someone to stand by them as I have."  
  
She kissed him then, not the dry, sisterly kiss she had given him in her ready room months before, but one with promises of passion, tongue slipping into his mouth to tease his, her fingers slipping through the short hair at the back of his head.  He leaned over her, pressing her back into the sand.  He began to taste and explore her neck and shoulder with his tongue.  Her hands pulled at the back of his loose exercise attire.  
  
"Computer engage security lock holodeck three," she called breathlessly.  Chakotay looked up from caressing her bare shoulder.  
  
"A little privacy," she said, eyes gleaming.  "Mr. Tuvok would never approve of what we're about to do."  
  
*****  
  
Janeway ordered a third cup of coffee from the replicator, and despite her tiredness, smiled to herself at her need for the reviving caffeine it contained.  
  
She'd slept not at all the night before.  She had Chakotay to thank for that.  He'd been a passionate, skillful (she didn't want to think where he'd learned those skills), and insatiable lover.  She'd been glad for the soundproofing of the holodeck.  
  
They'd made love, yes, but they'd also talked, long rambling conversations, during which they lay intertwined, not willing to lose physical contact with each other.  They'd talked about the impossibility of the two of them being together.  They talked about how it might affect the crew.  They debated whether Costa Rican coffee was better than that grown in Burundi.  
  
Janeway shifted in her command chair, and felt the slight tenderness between her legs.  Despite herself, a corner of her mouth lifted in a crooked smile.  Gods, the man had been incredible.  He teased her about his ardor, saying that no man should have to court a woman for more than two and a half years to consummate the relationship.  What did she expect?  
  
Janeway's smile edged into a full-blown grin.  Truth be told, he was exactly what she'd expected.  The smell of him, the taste, the way his fingers caressed her body, the small sigh he gave when he entered her body.  A hundred times she had imagined it.  
  
No, what had surprised her was her own response.  She'd always enjoyed sex, the physical pleasures of it, the intimacy it established between her partner and herself.  But making love with Chakotay - she'd never felt so uninhibited, telling him what she liked, wanting to know exactly what thrilled him most.  Nothing had been out of bounds, fingers stroking and probing, tongues tickling and lapping, mouths sucking - a small chill of pleasure took her.  She stood up abruptly to camouflage it.  
  
"Mr. Paris, have you plotted the route Commander Chakotay and I decided on last night?" she asked, making her voice crisp.  
  
Paris tapped a few places on his console, and then replied, continuing his piloting as he spoke.  
  
"I've completed the preliminary planning, Captain, but still have to consult with Harry and Tuvok to see what their long-distance scanners tell us.  We should have the long-term plot done by the end of the day," he replied.  
  
"Anything of interest, Mr. Kim?" she asked, turning to her operations officer, whose head was bowed over his own console, studying the readings with the diligence of a Vulcan accountant.  
  
Harry Kim gave her a quick glance, before looking back at his screen. "Sometimes I wonder if there's anything that's not of interest in this quadrant, Captain.  If we follow Ruleout Route, within the next two weeks we'll come across an anomalous nebula, a field of what looks like microscopic wormholes, two star systems with at least three inhabited planets between them - shall I go on?"  
  
Janeway walked up the sloping ramp that led to Kim's operations console.  She looked over the ensign's shoulder.  
  
"Mr. Tuvok, what have you been able to find out about the inhabited planets?  Are any of them technologically advanced enough to support space travel?"  
  
Tuvok joined her and Kim at the operations console.  He touched one of the stars shown on Kim's display.  
  
"For the planet in this system, the answer is most definitely 'no.' Their technology is classified as 'rudimentary' on the Heilor-Mothran techno-socio-economic scale.  From what I can tell, the planet offers little more than the three other uninhabited planets in the system can.  As for the other two inhabited planets in this system  - " Tuvok touched the controls to show another star with four planets in orbit around it.  "I would classify the technology of the outer of the two inhabited planets as 'rudimentary' as well.  Now this planet - " he tapped the next inner planet.  "More study needs to be done.  Some space ships have been detected, but whether they are warp-drive capable, or even manned craft, I have been unable to determine.  On the planet surface itself, there are some electromagnetic shields in use, probably for security purposes, but nothing our transporters can't penetrate."  
  
Janeway touched the image of the planet with her fingertip. "Worthwhile checking into, Mr. Tuvok?" she asked.  
  
Tuvok and Kim exchanged a glance.  "Mr. Kim and I have come to the conclusion there may be some trilithium on the planet.  Not a lot, but the readings indicate that it's a possibility."  
  
"Trilithium.  Well, that's interesting," she said.  They weren't in dire need for the rare element now, but it would be a comfort to have extra on board, if they could get it.  Perhaps they'd be able to trade for some, or get permission to mine for it, if the residents of the planet didn't mine it themselves.  
  
"Let's adjust our course to take us within shouting distance of the planet," said Janeway to Paris.  "I think I want to take a look."  
  


* * *

  
  
"You want me to what?"  
  
B'Elanna Torres, dressed in sweaty workout attire, hair tousled, sat straight up from the weight bench she'd been lounging on as she talked to her first officer, and fixed him with a disbelieving stare.  
  
"You want me to forgive her for what she did to me?  She tossed me in the brig!  She was - note the word was, Chakotay, because that damned bitch will never be anything but somebody who tells me what to do - she was my friend, and then she betrayed me.  She betrayed you - you, who put her back together after her little stay with the Kazon.  She betrayed us all!  And you want me to show her more respect?"  Torres leaned forward, almost into Chakotay's face.  "Are you crazy?"  
  
Chakotay put a hand on Torres shoulder and pushed her back gently. Across the exercise room, Phalen, using hand weights, looked up to give the two of them a surreptitious glance.  
  
Chakotay wondered if he'd made a tactical error in deciding that today was the day to tackle Torres about her treatment of Voyager's captain. He was tired after a night of no sleep - not that he was complaining, he couldn't think of a better reason to lose sleep than making love to Kathryn Janeway - but it drained him, made him intolerant of the engineering officer's childish attitude.  
  
Childish attitude! a small voice inside him said.  It wasn't so long ago that you felt the same way B'Elanna did.  
  
The thought wasn't pleasant, especially after last night.  He and Kathryn Janeway had made love, but they also talked about the ship and the crew, and all they had gone through since they'd been cast to this quadrant.  It had been a good talk, a cleansing talk.  In some ways, he'd learned more about Janeway than all those weeks when they'd talked after she'd come back from being Cullah's and Seska's prisoner.  
  
He'd been struck by the grief in her voice when she spoke of losing the friendship and counsel of some of the crew after they'd come back from the false Alpha Quadrant.  Her voice had been filled with pleasure when she'd told him how happy she was that the two of them had been able to find each other after all they'd been through (and she had explicitly illustrated how happy she was with her body) but when he'd mentioned the other Maquis and their feelings toward her, a shadow had fallen over her face, and she'd changed the subject.  
  
Chakotay was no mind reader, but he knew Torres' sneering attitude injured Janeway more than she would even admit to herself.  Janeway and the young engineer had been close, sharing an abiding interest in engineering and science, and, although it might not seem it to the casual observer, the two were really more alike than different.  Both had intelligence bordering on genius, were devoted to their cause, cherished the discoveries science brought, and were terrific in a firefight.  What did it matter that they were brought up in different worlds?  
  
"Can you try to keep your voice down to a normal level, B'Elanna?"  He said the words quietly, but they held enough of an edge that she quieted.  
  
"Let's remember she was a guest of the Kazon because we were so stupid that we allowed ourselves to be taken prisoner by them," he said mildly.  "She gave her life for us.  And let's remember that none of us saw the inside of any brig.  She asked us to stay in our quarters. Period.  It was the only option available to her."  
  
Torres jumped up and began pacing.  "Only option!  She could have given us a shuttle!  She could have given us Neelix's ship!  She could have refused to obey Admiral Necheyev's orders - "  
  
"If she'd done any of those things, we'd more than likely be dead now."  
  
Torres turned on him, eyes narrowing.  "She got to you, didn't she, Chak?  What'd she promise you?"  
  
Chakotay sighed.  For all her brilliance, her vivacity, her strength of character, Torres could also be unreasonably stubborn.  He knew if he pushed her further, she'd dig her heels in and he'd never convince her that Janeway deserved to be treated with respect, that Janeway was probably the best friend she'd ever have.  
  
"Just think about it, okay?  Whatever you think, I know she was doing what was best for Voyager and her crew," he said, rising from his seat on an overhead press machine.  
  
Torres tossed her head.  "Sure.  I'll think about it.  But she proved one thing - she's no friend to me.  She's one two-faced bitch who uses people like stepping stones."  
  
Chakotay started to leave, but stopped when he saw Phalen across the room.  The man was staring at him, his lips curled into a cruel grin.  
  
It made the skin on the back of Chakotay's neck crawl.  He hurriedly left.  
  


* * *

  
  
Oddly enough, perhaps the first person to become aware that Janeway and Chakotay had become lovers was Tuvok.  
  
Some think that because Vulcans eschew emotion, they are not sensitive to the emotions of those about them.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  In fact, they are hypersensitive to the feelings of others.  It's not known whether this is an offshoot of their telepathic capabilities, or, because in their "natural" habitat on Vulcan, there is so little emotion displayed that, by comparison the emotions of non-Vulcans is extraordinarily obvious.  
  
The morning after his captain's and Chakotay's first night together on the holodeck beach, Tuvok was able to detect a difference in the two of them.  They stood 6 cm closer to each other that morning than the morning before.  The captain's gaze lingered on her first officer 1.2 seconds longer than similar looks given just days before.  
  
And, of course, he could smell the odor of Chakotay's semen on Janeway, washed away in a morning shower, but still faintly detectable to Tuvok's sensitive sense of smell.  
  
While this, in itself, might not lead him to believe that Janeway and Chakotay were emotionally involved - after all, members of the F'Larnia used sexual intercourse as a method of greeting, something akin to a handshake - Tuvok had known his captain for nearly 15 years. She choose to have sexual intercourse with relatively few individuals, and, although he was not privy to the details of her mating habits, he postulated from her actions that she preferred emotional attachments associated with this intimacy rather than - variety.  
  
That this was more than anomalous sexual activity on the part of his captain and first officer was made clear the following day when Janeway again held the scent of her first officer on her being.  
  
Normally, Tuvok would be gratified that his captain found a individual with whom to share physical pleasures (pleasures he knew she enjoyed from his mind meld with her) and also emotional intimacy.  But logic dictated that the worst possible individual for her to form such an attachment to was Commander Chakotay.  
  
Logically, they should be enemies.  It had been Janeway's duty to imprison Chakotay and bring him to the Federation so he might stand trial.  Chakotay played no small part in Voyager's being flung to the Delta Quadrant.  The two shared no background commonalities, besides a space-faring adult life.  Their managerial styles were completely different.  They shared few common interests.  How could they bond?  
  
The peculiarities of their mating needed additional study, but it wasn't this social-sexual oddity that concerned Tuvok.  His concern was for the crew and Voyager.  
  
Janeway's and Chakotay's alliance would not be taken well by many members of the crew.  Some might see it as Chakotay's betrayal of his own people, the Maquis.  Others might see it as the grossest form of favoritism on Janeway's part.  After all, how is it possible to maintain any kind of professional distance when you're having repeated sexual intercourse with one of your crew and have formed an exclusive emotional bond?  
  
There were, of course, Starfleet ships with crew members who were bonded to each other, and there were no regulations against having a sexual relationship between officers, but Starfleet generally did not assign the spouse of a captain to the captain's ship.  Too often it disrupted discipline.  After all, captains might have difficulty sending spouses on necessary suicide missions.  And since captains prepared reports on the fitness of officers for promotion, how can it be expected for captains to rate their spouses objectively?  And then there's always the petty jealousies that bred accusations of favoritism - no, Starfleet was wise to pursue the "no spouses of captains when he/she is also a Starfleet officer" policy.  
  
Tuvok knew it would only be a matter of time before the rumors began, and then were confirmed.  He estimated it would be only days before the balance of power on the ship would begin to be disrupted. Chakotay had always been a champion of the Maquis (at least, in their minds, although Tuvok had to admit that, in his objective opinion, Chakotay treated the Maquis and Starfleet officers equitably).  
  
Tuvok steepled his fingers, and then placed thumbs on his forehead, contemplating the action he should take to allay this obviously flawed decision to mate on the part of his captain and first officer.  A blunt confrontation with the two of them?  A more subtle approach, meeting with Janeway or Chakotay and voicing his concerns?  Kes was often very insightful on issues of human relations - perhaps discuss this with her and get her counsel?  Perhaps she would talk to Janeway about the folly of this relationship with her first officer.  
  
Tuvok took a deep breath, and slowly released it, cleansing his thoughts.  None of these approaches seemed satisfactory.  He knew the mating between some humans could be as strong as the bonding between Vulcans.  It would take more than good advice to break the relationship.  
  
He stood, stretching arms overhead, and extending leg out to the side in the classic fong pac meditation pose.  
  
Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to allay this calamity, except ensure his own emotional balance to serve Voyager to the optimum.  
  


* * *

  
  
"He's fucking her, Brazil!"  
  
Phalen's face was red with rage as he leaned over his quartersmate. His hands were fists, pressed against the sides of his legs, as if only this would stop him from pounding something.  
  
"Fucking!  Fucking!  I saw 'em, in the fourth deck cargo bay.  She was rubbin' against him, touchin' his face.  Then he kissed her  - !"  
  
Brazil looked up from the padd he was reading.  He'd heard rumors yesterday, but chose not to share them with Phalen for just this very reason.  It was hard enough to get peace around here.  It would be weeks until Phalen quieted down about this.  
  
"Can' do much about it, man.  Now, shut up.  I'm trying to watch this."  
  
Phalen turned and kicked the wall.  "He was on our side!  He was our leader!  If he'd had a chance, I know he woulda taken this ship!  It coulda been ours!  He and B'Elanna coulda gotten us out of here.  It coulda been like old times!"  
  
Brazil tried to ignore the man.  
  
"Brazil, you listenin' to me?  Chakotay's turned on us, and it's that bitch's fault!"  
  
Brazil dropped his padd, knowing until he calmed Phalen down, he'd never get to concentrate on Professor T'rel's lecture on warp field dynamics.  
  
"Man, you expect him to be celibate for life?"  
  
Phalen crossed the room to Brazil, now he had his attention.  
  
"He could have any woman on this ship!  You know that!  Why her?"  His last words were almost a wail of despair.  "We'll never get this ship now!"  
  
Brazil finally gave Phalen his full attention.  
  
"Get this ship?  Wadda ya mean, man?"  
  
Phalen's eyes narrowed, and he gave Brazil a tight smile.  "Couldn't you tell he was getting ready?  Churnin' up the crew, working on turnin' them against her - Chakotay gettin' ready.  You, me, B'Elanna, Chakotay.  The rest would follow."  
  
Brazil scowled.  As far as he could see, Chakotay hadn't taken any action that might indicate he wanted to take over the ship.  Then something Phalen said penetrated his mind.  Fourth deck cargo bay. What was he doing there?  That was off limits to all but the senior officers and security people.  That's where the bulk of Voyager's hand weapons were stored.  
  
"Phalen, you're not gonna do somethin' stupid, are you?"  he asked.  
  
Phalen grinned.  "Stupid?  Naw.  Smart.  I'm gonna help out our man Chakotay.  He's got his head twisted.  He needs it set right."  
  
And then he left.  
  


* * *

  
  
She got to the cargo bay before Chakotay did.  
  
They'd met here three times in the last two weeks, always after Chakotay got off watch.  They'd pull storage bins together to make an ad hoc picnic table, and then dine on replicated vegetable couscous and lemon tart, or pasta primavera and flan.  And always, Janeway brought a bottle of Romulan ale the ersatz Elizabeth Shelby beamed over before Voyager had made its way back through the wormhole.  
  
They had decided to be discreet about their new relationship.  They both realized on a ship the size of Voyager, with few places to go for privacy, keeping their affairs to themselves would be futile.  But still, discretion might at least delay the inevitable and they would have a few weeks to themselves.  
  
So they met in Janeway's quarters, Chakotay arriving well after night watch had been set, taking roundabout routes lest anyone see him. Occasionally, they met in a holodeck, always reserved only in one of their names and the privacy lock always engaged.  
  
And then they met here, in the fourth deck cargo bay, one of the few areas of the ship that wasn't open to all the crew.  Most of the personal weapons were stowed here - hand phasers, phaser rifles, percussion grenades, personal armor - and while they were secured behind armored plating, Starfleet took no chances.  Regulations prohibited most crew from the area except when on work details.  
  
So Janeway checked the duty rosters, and when all her senior officers who had access to the cargo bay were busy on duty (all, with the exception of her first officer, of course), made arrangements to meet Chakotay in the cargo bay.  
  
She'd changed into a simple, short, flowing dress, packed up their meal (curry and basmati rice this time, with baked apples) and then made her way to the cargo bay, taking a route that took her near few people.  She liked getting there before him, so she could savor the coming evening in her thoughts.  
  
She unpacked the food, and then, impatient, she began walking around aimlessly, passing the time, checking to make sure the cargo was secured, examining the fastening on the bulkhead wall units, checking the power units.  
  
If it hadn't been for Chakotay's tardiness, Janeway might never have discovered the slight discoloration on the lock to the hand phaser wall storage unit.  She might never have smelled the faint, tell-tale ozone odor of a phaser drill.  She might never have bent to get a closer look at the lock, and realized someone was trying to drill through it.  She might not have heard the scrape of boot on deck as someone rushed forward from a hiding place to smash her head into the bulkhead, stunning her, knocking her to her knees.  
  
"Just stay there!  Stay there!  Don't move!  I'll drill a hole right through yer brain!"  
  
Dizzy, head pounding, it took Janeway a moment to recognize Phalen's voice, excited, high-pitched.  Her fingers clenched on the smooth walls, and she tried to push herself to her feet.  
  
"I said don't move!"  
  
She froze, leaning against the wall for support.  "I won't.  I won't move.  Just tell me what you want."  
  
Buy time.  Find out what this was all about.  
  
Phalen had his hand flat on her back, pushing her hard against the wall, his face inches from her own.  She could hear his rapid breathing, smell his copper-scented sweat.  He was excited, on edge. What was going on here?  Her pounding head dulled her wits.  
  
"Okay.  Okay.  You an' I are gonna move over to the center of the cargo bay.  Near where you and Chakotay have your picnics.  Slow. Don't do anything stupid."  He put the tip of the drill into her ear, just far enough so that it caused discomfort, but not pain.  
  
So he knew about their picnics.  He'd been here before.  He's watched them, maybe even listened in on their conversations.  He might have even watched as they'd made love.  
  
How had he gotten in here?  She'd have to have a conversation with Tuvok about that.  Only senior officers were supposed to have the pass code to enter here.  What he was doing here was obvious.  He was trying to drill through the locks to get the hand guns.  He must be a patient man; it would take him many hours to get through the hardened titanium lock with a simple engineering phaser drill.  At least she'd interrupted him before he'd broken through.  
  
Janeway struggled to her feet slowly, doing nothing to alarm Phalen. He laced fingers into the hair at the back of her head to hold her, the drill never leaving her ear.  A blast of the drill, while not very effective against hardened titanium,  would zip through 10 centimeters of human flesh in a microsecond.  For now, she'd play it safe.  
  
They walked the few yards to the center of the bay, and stopped.  
  
"Okay.  Okay.  Kneel down again.  Knees tight together."  
  
Janeway did, slowly.  The deck was hard, unyielding, under her knees, sending twinges up her thighs.  She tried to brace toes against the decking, but the souls of her non-regulation shoes slipped on the surface.  On her knees, she couldn't use her legs to kick out.  With her legs tight together, her center of gravity was off.  It was exactly as Tuvok taught his security people.  Phalen listened well, and learned.  
  
He loosened his grip on her hair, and reached around her from behind and grabbed her throat.  Automatically, she reached up to put her hands over his, but dropped them when he squeezed.  The drill remained in her ear, moving slightly with each of his breaths.  
  
"All right," she said, hoping she sounded in control.  "You've got me. So what do you want?  A shuttle?"  
  
He squeezed her throat, hard.  Convulsively, she reached up with both hands again to pull his arm away.  The drill gouged deeper in her ear.  
  
"Let go.  Drop your hands."  
  
She released her grip.  His hand on her throat eased, and she gulped for air.  
  
"Shut up.  Just shut up."  
  
They waited, each minute an hour.  Her knees ached.  The stink of Phalen's fear grew sharper.  Janeway felt a trickle of sweat down her back.  She closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath, trying to clear the fog from her brain.  
  
"Kathryn, I'm sorry to be late, I - "  
  
It was Chakotay, rushing through the doors, full of apologies.  He was four steps into the bay before he froze, arms stiff at his side.  It took him a second to gather in what he was seeing.  
  
"What is this, Phalen?"  Chakotay's voice was calm, relaxed, almost as if he were discussing a chess move with a student.  
  
"What does it look like?" Phalen sneered.  
  
Two heartbeats passed.  Chakotay avoided Janeway's eyes.  She could see that his breathing had changed, that he was frightened, too.  
  
"It looks," he said slowly, "like you've got a drill pressed to Captain Janeway's head and you're ready to turn it on."  
  
He was buying time.  Trying to figure it out.  Trying to figure Phalen out.  
  
"I've got her," said Phalen, his voice excited again.  "We've got her. We can take the ship.  It can be ours!"  
  
Janeway saw a flash in Chakotay's eyes.  
  
"Take the ship."  He said it slowly, weighing the words.  "You mean, you and me?"  
  
Phalen wiggled his hands, and an involuntary cry escaped Janeway's lips.  The drill had gouged deeply in her ear.  A warm trickle made its way down her neck.  She felt a surge of vertigo.  
  
"You, me.  Brazil.  B'Elanna.  B'Elanna hates her.  She might even want to kill Janeway herself.  The others will join us.  We just need to get Janeway out of the way."  He laughed then, high-pitched. "Janeway, out-of-the-way."  He laughed again at his own wit.  
  
He's crazy, Janeway realized.  She looked into Chakotay's eyes, and saw he knew it, too.  Which way to take this?  Play along, or challenge Phalen?  Who knew which choice to make when you're dealing with a madman?  
  
She could see Chakotay was trying to decide, too.  He found her eyes again, and then looked away, a quick look over Janeway's shoulder, and then back to Phalen.  Slowly, he shook his head.  
  
"I can't buy into mutiny, Phalen.  And neither can you.  Put the drill down.  Let the captain go.  Then we'll talk."  
  
Without a beat, Phalen's face went bright red with rage, the veins in his neck protruding like ropes.  
  
"You call yourself a Maquis!  Defender of the weak!  Keeper of the flame of liberty!  Fap you, Chakotay!  What, she get you in her ready room and go down on you?  She take you in her mouth and suck you 'til your eyes popped?  She got a tight greasy cunt that - "  
  
"That's enough, Phalen!"  Chakotay's voice was so low that Janeway could barely hear him.  Low, yes, but it held a threat, an intensity that she'd never hear in his voice before.  
  
"Traitor!  Turncoat!  Spineless worm!"  
  
Phalen was leaning forward now, leaning over Janeway, his hand on her throat convulsively clenching, the drill in her ear alternately digging deeper and withdrawing.  
  
"We can take this ship!  It could be ours!" He looked down at the top of Janeway's head.  "Bitch!" he screamed at her.  "If it weren't for you, we'd be back home!  We'd probably have our home space back!  Put me in that filthy cabin, no bigger than a water closet!  Give me nothing but scut work to do!  No decent food, no liberty - "  
  
Chakotay stepped closer, but stopped when Phalen looked up.  
  
"Stay there, Chakotay!  Don't come closer!"  
  
Chakotay raised his hands, showing his palms, taking half a step back, retreating.  
  
"I'd like to kill her, you know?  She's takin' away all my friends - " A thin trickle of spittle appeared on his chin.  "I could do it.  I've killed before - thick necked Cardassians.  Her skinny little neck - "  
  
The flash of phaser light was so quick that Janeway didn't even have time to shield her eyes.  The afterburn left bright specks in her vision.  Phalen fell forward onto her, tumbling them both to the deck. There was the sound of running feet, and then Phalen's weight was pulled off her, hands were helping her to her feet.  
  
"How did you know?"  asked Janeway of Tuvok, who stood with phaser still drawn, flanked by Brazil and Torres.  
  
Tuvok stood over the Bajoran, checking to see he was unconscious, and then holstered his weapon.  
  
"It seems Petty Officer Brazil took his concerns to Lieutenant Torres, who then notified me.  We thought a discreet entrance might be in order, so we came through the ventilation system behind the stacked storage bins.  Lieutenant Torres and Petty Officer Brazil used a welding torch to cut through the bulkhead, and then we waited for the proper moment when Phalen was distracted - thank you, Commander.  Your rejection of his plan upset him enough that he wasn't alert to his surroundings."  
  
Janeway nodded, hand pressed to her ear.  It throbbed, distracting her.  She turned to Brazil.  
  
"Thank you.  You probably saved my life.  I know this must have been difficult for you.  Phalen is your friend."  
  
Brazil's eyes flicked to the man prone on the floor, and then back to Janeway.  A grin split his face.  
  
"Time to make some new friends, ma'am."  
  
Janeway smiled back.  Chakotay gently eased her hand from the side of her head, and pressed a wad of white cloth to her ear.  Janeway recognized it as the saclo she'd used to wrap the bottle of ale she'd brought.  
  
"Let's get you to sickbay, Captain," he said.  Protocol: "Captain," even now, in front of the crew members who had saved her life.  
  
She let him put an arm around her, steadying her, as they walked toward the doors.  Well, the cat was out of the bag now, anyway.  It would be only nanoseconds before the entire ship knew about the two of them.  
  
"Mr. Tuvok, will you take care of - this?" she said as she walked out.  
  
Tuvok turned to his two companions.  
  
"Lieutenant Torres, if you'll assist me in securing Petty Officer Phalen, I will then beam him - is something wrong, Lieutenant?"  
  
She looked up at him, eyes bright with tears.  
  
"He was so - obscene.  Irrational.  What he was doing.  The things he said about her, the things he said to her.  And he thought I would help - it's ugly."  
  
Tuvok stood rooted, not understanding why she was so upset by a few words spoken by a disturbed crew member.  
  
"Ugly," she repeated.  She swallowed, and then took a step toward the security officer.  "That's how I sounded.   Maybe not so bad, but I was still - awful."  
  
Tuvok cocked his head slightly.  "I will admit, Lieutenant, that if I were the captain of Voyager, I would not have been as tolerant as Captain Janeway regarding your behavior."  
  
A tear made its way down Torres' cheek.  "To hear things like that said about her, to hear the words out loud - it's grotesque."  In an instant, anger flashed in her face.  "Why didn't she stop me from saying those things?  Why didn't she order me to stop?"  
  
Tuvok crossed his arms behind him, and stood for a moment, considering.  "If she had ordered you," he said finally, "it would have just bred more resentment on your part.  If I have learned anything from Captain Janeway, it's that we each have to find our own way back."  
  
Torres anger melted, and shame reddened her face.  Without a word, she walked swiftly out the door.  
  
"Are all Maquis women like that?" asked Tuvok of Brazil, curious.  
  


* * *

  
  
His hands massaged the knotted muscles in her neck, slowing, applying just enough pressure to loosen them yet cause no pain.  Her skin, slick and gleaming from the oil he'd smoothed on it, felt warm to his touch.  Gods, he thought, just touching her was arousing.  
  
She groaned slightly and he worked his way down to her shoulders and spine, using the ball of his thumbs to penetrate the tightened muscles.  
  
"You have no idea how good that feels," she moaned.  
  
He placed thumbs together and pressed slowly at the base of her spine. She groaned again.  
  
"Just relax," he said gently.  "Send your mind away to someplace you'd like to be."  
  
"I'm exactly where I want to be," she said languidly.  
  
He worked up her spine again with massaging fingers, still feeling tension there.  
  
"You shouldn't let him get to you," he said, chastising lightly. "He's disturbed."  
  
Janeway sighed.  "Disturbed.  Yes.  But it's repulsive to hear what he said, to have had his hands on me."  She paused, and then continued. "Attempted mutiny, on my ship."  
  
He slicked his hands with the oil again, and continued firm, strong strokes down her back to her buttocks, and then to her thighs.  He let his fingertips gently caress the wisps of hair that guarded her sex.  
  
"Commander, if your intention is to totally relax me, that's definitely not working," said Janeway, a smile in her voice.  
  
Chakotay chuckled, and moved down her legs to knead calves and rub her feet.  She sighed again in obvious pleasure.  
  
"I should have seen it coming," she said, her voice slightly muffled from the pillow she cradled in her arms.  
  
Chakotay snorted.  "If anyone should have seen it, I should have. Phalen was always volatile.  Smart, a good fighter, but unstable. Couldn't trust him."  
  
"Why did you recruit him?" asked Janeway, her voice still muffled.  
  
Why did I recruit him?  Chakotay thought of the half-starved man-boy who showed up at the Maquis base one day, an escapee from a Cardassian labor camp.  He'd had only two agendas:  To get enough to eat and to kill as many Cardassians as he could before he died.  Not ideal crew material.  But then again, he was a warm body.  And Brazil, the natural leader, seemed to be able to keep him in line.  
  
"Sometimes you don't get to choose," he said neutrally.  
  
Janeway took a long breath, and let it out slowly.  "Yes," she said, agreeing, her voice sounding a bit sad, "sometimes you don't get to choose."  
  
Chakotay stopped his massage, stood up to peel off tunic and pants, and then lay next to her, pulling her to him so they fit together like spoons.  He reached around her to smooth oil over breasts and abdomen, inside thighs, lingering, making no effort to ease her tensions now. She shivered a little in pleasure, pushing back against him.  He shifted slightly, and entering her from behind, never stopping the movement of his hands.  She groaned and hooked one leg behind his, reaching down between her legs with one hand to cup and squeeze his testicles gently.  
  
"You will be careful tomorrow, won't you?" she said, her voice thickening with arousal.  "This ship and crew hasn't been so lucky lately."  
  
He probed the slickness of her sex with fingertips until he found the tiny nub hidden there.  He began rubbing it gently, rocking his body slightly in the same rhythm.  
  
"I'll only be gone the day," he said.  She'd never admonished him to take care before; captains never said such things to their first officers.  It was a first officer's job to lead away parties.  If they valued their skins, they were careful.  
  
"A day," he repeated.  "Just think of the reunion we'll be able to celebrate when I get back."  
  


* * *

  
  
Trilithium.  
  
The hardest substance known to man.  There was no substance more rare in the universes.  
  
Federation scientists hadn't figured out how to replicate it.  A dozen miners from Federation planets spent their lives mining enough of the element to power a single Starfleet vessel - and were well-compensated for their efforts.  
  
Starfleet spent billions to recrystalize the stuff rather than pay the premium for new crystals, even though new crystals were three times as effective as recycled ones.  A starship could utilize a single crystal for a decade before it needed to be recrystalized - providing, of course, you nurtured that crystal, allowed it to rest and cool, rarely made the jump from impulse to warp 10 without intermediate warp speeds in between.  
  
Which, of course, Voyager rarely did.  
  
The ship brutalized its crystals, often driving Torres to near hysteria.  
  
While, for the moment, Voyager's trilithium crystals were working fine, Janeway would sleep better at night with a replacement supply. The thought of crossing the Delta Quadrant at impulse speed was enough to breed insomnia in the toughest captain.  
  
It would be Chakotay's job, as the head of the away team, to determine if negotiating for trilithium were a possibility.  Depending upon what the team found on the planet, Janeway had authorized her first officer to obtain some of the precious stuff.  
  
They'd decided on a small landing party.  Chakotay.  B'Elanna Torres to help him determine the quality and quantity of available trilithium.  Young Ensign Zoe De Wynne to get some experience under her belt.  From long- and then short-range scanning, they'd been able to determine that the residents of this planet, who called themselves Torth, were experienced interplanetary travelers, but had yet to tackle interstellar travel.  Voyager's ethnologists estimated warp travel was still 25 years away, but their pre-warp engineering was quite advanced; in some ways, it was more sophisticated that Voyager's own impulse engines.  
  
The Torth were invariant traders, it seemed, with a number of ships from worlds Voyager - more specifically, Neelix - knew little about. And while what they were trading wasn't clear, readings indicated that much of the time they left with trilithium.  
  
Beaming down was without incident.  Chakotay had gotten in contact with Janeway shortly after they arrived to inform her the team was heading in the direction of some promising trilithium readings Torres had detected, toward a nearby city.  He'd report in at fifteen hundred hours.  
  
He didn't.  Nor did Torres or de Wynne.  
  
Nor did they an hour later, or three hours later.  
  
Or a day later.  
  
Repeated scans for their life signs were fruitless.   Tuvok and Kim were able to trace the team to the edge of the city, and then - nothing.  It's as if they were sucked off the planet.  
  


* * *

  
  
Her senior staff sat at the conference table, stunned looks on their faces.  There was almost a feeling of deja vu among them.  Only months before, they'd sat as they did now, trying to figure out a way to get Janeway back after she'd been taken by Cullah.  And now, they were trying to figure out a way to get Chakotay, Torres and de Wynne back.  
  
There were differences, of course.  Janeway sat where Chakotay had been all those months before, but both had the gray look of a commanding officer too long without sleep and filled with worry. Carey sat in Torres' chair, acting like a man who knew he was out of place.  
  
"These electromagnetic shields may be responsible for us not detecting them, Mr. Tuvok?" Janeway was leaning forward slightly, clutching to this straw.  
  
Tuvok, as always, sat stiff in his chair.  "Captain, I would postulate that it is probable.  These fields are not very powerful; in fact, I believe we could beam right through them, with the proper beam enhancement.  However, they are strong enough to disrupt our scanners and also communication.  Fortunately, these fields appear localized."  
  
Janeway spread hands on the table, then placed them in her lap.  She turned to Carey.  "Your opinion, Mr. Carey?"  
  
The man nodded.  "I can get a search party down through the field, Captain.  It will take a little time, and they'll have to take enhancers with them for the beam back.  That's no problem.  The only problem is that we'd lose control in the rematerialization on the planet surface.  We can't scan to find a good location to put them down.  They might materialize on a roof or the middle of a pond. I'd still suggest beaming down outside the field, and then walk in. Beaming out, that shouldn't be a problem, though.  Just lock on to a tight comm beam, and - bam - you're on the ship."  
  
Bam.  They made it sound so easy.  But if this had been so easy, how had she lost Chakotay, three of her crew members?  
  
"Once down on the surface, we should be able to detect their life signs, Captain," offered an eager Harry Kim, wanting to help.  "We should be able to find them and beam them right back."  
  
The optimism of youth.  
  
"All right," Janeway said.  She stood, an implicit signal the meeting was drawing to a close.  "We'll send down a rescue party.  Tuvok, you and two others.  Discreet.  And no chances.  Losing three is enough this week."  
  
Tuvok stood.  "I shall use caution, Captain.  And I'm confident I will succeed."  
  
Janeway nodded, then looked around the table.  Carey, trying his best to rise to the occasion in Torres' absence.  Paris, his brow creased with worry over Torres.  Kim, helpful, competent, compassionate. Tuvok, steadfast as always.  Neelix, silent for once.  Kes, eyes full of sympathy.  A full table, but so empty without Chakotay and Torres.  
  
Fates, give me strength.  
  
"You're all dismissed, then.  Good luck, Mr. Tuvok."  
  


* * *

  
  
It was a replay of what happened to Chakotay and his team.  
  
Tuvok, Lt. (j.g.) Tynn and Petty Officer Brazil beamed down without incident, followed the readings of trilithium to the nearby city, and then disappeared.  
  
This time, though, they were expecting it.  It didn't cause Janeway's stomach to knot, didn't cause her heart rate to step up, her breathing to accelerate.  Instead, in a small way, it was comforting.  What happened to Chakotay and Torres and de Wynne wasn't unique, then. Whoever entered the city was lost to Voyager's sensors, incommunicado.  
  
Maybe there was hope, after all.  
  
The hours passed slowly, Janeway struggling to maintain a routine. The bridge watch turned over.  Voyager automatically adjusted itself from "day" to "night."  
  
With Chakotay, Torres and Tuvok gone, Janeway found herself busy, which should have been a small blessing, but instead, she found herself thinking about the others who should be doing the small tasks she completed in their absence.  Tuvok should be signing off on the small arms inventory.  Chakotay should be approving the new watchbill for operations.  Torres should be approving the auxiliary machinery preventive maintenance.  Each time she signed her name, she thought about the consequences of them not coming back.  Perhaps she'd made an error in allowing Tuvok and his team to look for them.  Was she too emotionally involved to think properly?  
  
She stood from her command chair, arms crossed, looking into the viewscreen.  Nonsense.  Voyager didn't leave a man in the field. Period.  It was a tenet she led by.  Her feelings for Chakotay had nothing to do with it.  
  
Janeway didn't leave the bridge, knowing trying to rest was a waste of time anyway.  
  
At 0430, an hour before Voyager's "dawn" arrived, the silence of the bridge was broken by Kim.  
  
"Captain, Mr. Tuvok is hailing us."  
  
Janeway sat back in her chair.  "Put him through, Mr. Kim."  
  
Tuvok's voice came through, clear and steady.  
  
"Tuvok here, Captain.  We have found the away team."  
  
Janeway's heart leaped.  "They're all right?  You're all right?"  
  
There was a pause, which sent Janeway's heart to pounding.  What was wrong?  
  
"We are all satisfactory, for the moment, Captain.  But I regret to inform you that Ensign de Wynne, Lieutenant Torres and Commander Chakotay will not be beaming on board with us.  There are - difficulties."  
  
Janeway held her breath a moment, trying to still her heart.  
  
"Very well, Mr. Tuvok.  I'll meet you in my ready room.  I'll need a full report."  
  
Janeway heard his reply as she entered the lift.  
  
"Aye, ma'am."  
  


* * *

  
  
"We found them with little difficulty, once we got into the city," said the security officer.  "The tricorder picked up their readings immediately and it was merely a matter of tracking them.  Even getting into the cells was easy - there's little security.  There's little need for it.  The Torth's method of controlling their slaves is quite unique."  
  
Tuvok sat across from Janeway in her ready room, dirty, exhausted, with a sour animal smell about his person.  As offensive as the odor was to Janeway, she knew it must be absolutely repulsive to the fastidious Vulcan.  Still, she couldn't let him go shower and rest until she had his full report.  She handed him a mug of the herb tea she knew he enjoyed.  
  
"They were in good health, though?" she asked.  
  
Tuvok cocked his head slightly.  "They were not injured, Captain. Tired, dirty, hungry - they are given little food, little water.  We left them all our water and foodstuffs, but I fear it won't last long. Ensign de Wynne's palm had blistered and become infected.  I healed it before we left.  The work conditions, living conditions are deplorable.  They are worked until they drop, and then allowed to return to their cells for a few hours' rest.  There are no sanitary facilities, no running water.  Dozens die each day.  It is evident the Torth have little regard for their lives, or the lives of any of the peoples they keep as slaves."  Tuvok took a sip of the tea before continuing.  
  
"They work in the trilithium mines, performing much of the work by hand; there's little waste then, not like the mechanized methods used in the Alpha Quadrant.  But from what Commander Chakotay says, they also perform all the baser functions a society requires.  They are the cleaners, the sanitizers, of this society.  They clean the sewers, the streets, glean the fields.  Some are selected for - amusement.  Others harvest the dead."  
  
Tuvok paused again.  Others who did not know Tuvok as well as she wouldn't see it, but Janeway could tell he was shaken by what he'd seen and learned about the Torth.  
  
"You said they have a unique way of keeping them in line?  There are few security people?" she said gently, helping him move forward.  
  
"Indeed.  Efficient.  Clever.  Brutal.  As soon as one becomes one of the Torth's slaves, nanites are introduced into the body, millions of them.  Torres called them sleeping nanites.  They remain dormant in their host, unless they go outside the electromagnetic field we detected.  Then they become very active.  They are programmed to destroy their host from the inside out. Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Torres were witness to the death of one of the slaves who was forced out of the field because his exhaustion and weakened condition made him an inefficient worker.  They said it was a - distressing - sight."  
  
Distressing.  Yes.  A mild word for what must have happened.  Janeway put down her coffee on the low table and closed her eyes briefly.  She knew exactly what it must have looked like.  Death would have been quick, but not immediate.  That poor soul, screaming in agony as his insides were ripped apart, his flesh disintegrating, blood spilling.  
  
And now, Chakotay, Torres and de Wynne had those nanites inside of them.  Beam them up, take them from the "protection" of the electromagnetic field, and they would die just as that slave had.  
  
No wonder there was no need for much security.  Any slave got out of line, any kind of revolt, and the Torth simply turned off the field. An efficient way to allay an uprising.  
  
Janeway stood, and took the few steps to the porthole, to look out among the stars of the Delta Quadrant.  Silently, she cursed them. This quadrant, the beings that lived here.  It was as if they were testing her and her ship over and over again.  How long would it be before they failed a test?  
  
Tuvok spoke behind her.  
  
"I took complete tricorder readings, Captain, and have passed them on to Lieutenant Carey and the Doctor for analysis.  Perhaps there is a way to circumvent the nanites, to short-circuit them."  
  
Janeway turned to him, and nodded.  "We'll find a way to get them back," she said, hoping her voice sounded surer than she felt. "Meanwhile, Tuvok, get some rest.  I need you in top form.  You may have to go back down to the planet surface again, as soon as we've found a solution."  
  
Tuvok stood, preparing to leave.  
  
"There is one more thing, Captain.  Commander Chakotay asked that I deliver a message to you.  For your ears only."  
  
She stood frozen.  "Yes?"  
  
Tuvok cleared his throat.  A simple message, but he understood the emotion behind it.  
  
"He said that you were to remember that the longer the separation, the sweeter the reunion.  And then he said I should tell you that he loved you like he has never loved another, or ever will."  
  
Janeway held Tuvok's gaze for nearly half a minute before she looked away.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Tuvok."  
  
She heard the hiss of the doors behind her, and she was alone.  
  


* * *

  
  
Janeway knew she should rest, that her exhaustion was dulling her wits, but she also knew the only way she'd be able to sleep was by artificial means.  She also didn't want to be asleep when they found a way to bring Chakotay and his team back safely to Voyager.  
  
The problem was the oscillation of the electromagnetic field used to dampen the sleeping nanites.  It was completely random, without any pattern. "Chaotic" was the word Carey had used.  He had no suggestion to circumvent the problem.  
  
First, they had tried to figure out a way to destroy the nanites by chemical means so that the team could be beamed out.  The Doctor continued to pursue this course of action, but he was having little luck finding a method that wouldn't harm the hosts.  Carey and Kim were attempting a way to recreate the electromagnetic field, complete with its "chaotic" oscillation, so the team could be beamed up and exist in the field until Voyager could figure out a way to destroy the nanites, but that, too, seemed to be a blind alley.  
  
Janeway took another approach.  Perhaps a nanite could be developed that would attack the sleeping nanites, destroying them and rendering them harmless to the host.  
  
In the end, they used all three methods, hoping if one method didn't work, the others would.  Yet, even using all three, the Doctor predicted only a 67 percent chance of success.  
  
"The problem is, Captain, that we only have tricorder readings.  If we were able to run tests with them actually here - as good as we holographic images are, we're simply not the real thing.  Sixty-seven percent, that's the best we can do, at least for the first one who beams up.  Once we've got one, and can recalculate from the computer data, the next one has a 96 percent chance of success.  The third, well, I'd say at least 99 percent."  
  
Janeway nodded.  Sixty-seven percent.  Two out of three times, it would work.  Not great odds, but as good as they were going to get for this "test."  
  
Janeway gathered the equipment spread before her, stowing it carefully in a shoulder pack.  
  
"I'll assemble an away team," said Tuvok.  "We can leave immediately."  
  
Janeway shook her head.  "No.  This time, I'm going.  The two of us."  
  
Tuvok opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when he saw from her expression that she wouldn't be swayed, no matter what his argument.  
  
"Aye, Captain.  Whenever you're ready."  
  


* * *

  
  
Janeway was struck by the beauty of the place.  
  
Flora of riotous colors spilled over walls made of native stone that had been carved with intricate, flowing designs.  The pastel buildings were low, roofs tiled with muted grays and beige.  Fountains and sculptures were on almost every corner, beckoning Janeway to stop and look, linger a moment.  
  
The Torth who walked the streets wore the same pastel and soft gray and beige colors as the buildings, as if it had been determined by some decree that this world would be only in hues that would soothe and calm the occupants.  
  
Even the demeanor of the human-like Torth was calm, nodding to Tuvok and Janeway as they passed, a warm smile on their faces.  They seemed to accept them without undue notice, as if strangers were common to their world.  Well, thought Janeway, perhaps they were, if they were the traders their research showed them to be.  A cosmopolitan world, beautiful and calm, masking rot beneath the surface.  
  
It took Tuvok more than two hours to lead Janeway into the city and through a maze of back streets to the tunnels that took them deep underground.  They saw only two guards, whom they hid from.  
  
She could smell the slave quarters before she saw them.  The smell of unwashed bodies and excrement and sickness in unventilated space filled the place, and it made her gag.  What must it be like to live here?  She pushed the thought from her mind.  
  
"This way, Captain.  If they're in the same place they were before, it's only a few hundred yards from here, down this passageway."  
  
Tuvok shined the light down a long corridor that had many rounded doorways leading off it.  
  
Janeway could hear the soft groaning of people as they lay exhausted. How many hundreds, thousands?  
  
They found the team as Tuvok said they would, in the far corner of the cave-like room.  Chakotay leaned against the rock wall, one arm curved protectively around B'Elanna and Zoe, who were curled together like animals in a burrow for warmth.  They were all asleep.  Janeway knelt next to them, and touched his face.  
  
"Chakotay."  She spoke his name as a whisper, a caress.  
  
His eyes opened slowly, a small smile on his lips.  
  
"Kathryn.  I was dreaming about us - " He stopped, realizing where he was, seeing Tuvok standing behind her.  He carefully moved his arm from Torres and de Wynne, trying not to wake them.  
  
"I'm sorry, Captain," he said contritely.  "I've made a muck of this one, haven't I?"  
  
Janeway gave him a crooked grin, busy fastening the oscillating field generator on his arm.  Tuvok bent over and shook Torres and de Wynne, waking them, fastening their generators on their arms.  
  
"Well, as a matter of fact, you have," she said.  "But we've figured out a way to get you out of here.  We think."  
  
"They were on us the minute Chakotay asked about trilithium, Captain," said Torres, defensive.  "They asked us what types of slaves we brought to barter with, and when we said we didn't barter in human lives - there was nothing we could do - you found a way out for us?" Torres, her quick mind dulled by her exhausted sleep, sat up and began examining the generator.  "Ah, a generator.  I'm not sure this will work, Captain.  I'm quite sure the field is oscillating - "  
  
Janeway cut her off, not willing to waste time on the debate.  "Yes, we know.  It generates a randomizing field.  We've also got a couple of other tricks up our sleeves."  
  
She injected Chakotay and the others with the chemical suppressant the Doctor had developed.  Tuvok set up the transporter beam enhancers. They were ready.  
  
"We think we've figured out a way to get you out of here," repeated Janeway.  "But here's the problem.  Since we didn't have you to study, only tricorder readings and holographic simulations, the Doctor and Tuvok tell me there's a chance this won't work.  A one in three chance, it seems, for the first one to beam up.  We'll be able to recalibrate after that, so there shouldn't be a problem with the others.  Just the first."  
  
Chakotay's eyes met Janeway's.  There were unspoken volumes in them. He smiled at her.  "Well," he said, "I guess that's why they call me the 'first officer.'"  
  
"No!"  Torres was on her feet.  "Captain, let me go first!"  Her voice was urgent, eyes bright.  "Please!"  She swallowed, squatted down next to Janeway and Chakotay, touching their arms, pleading.  "Please. Please, Captain, let me go first."  
  
Janeway, bowed her head, turning away.  This was Torres' apology for the way she'd been behaving, offering her life for Chakotay and her. It was hard not to take the young woman in her arms and weep.  She wiped her eyes, and turned back to the group.  
  
"Captain's prerogative, Lieutenant.  Mr. Chakotay will go first.  Then you.  Then Ensign de Wynne."  
  
For a moment, it looked as if Torres were going to protest, but she merely nodded.  "Aye aye, ma'am.  I'll go second."  
  
Janeway helped Chakotay to his feet.  Hang protocol.  Hang 'appropriateness.'  She put her arms around him.  "I'm beaming up with you," she said.  "And I remind you, Commander, that you've been gone nearly a week.  A very, very long week.  I look forward to this reunion."  
  
He leaned over her, speaking in a whisper.  "Yes.  Yes, a very, very long week - "  He kissed her, holding the embrace as they heard Tuvok speak.  
  
"Energizing now - "  
  
And then they were on the transporter pad, surrounded by the Doctor, Kes, Carey, Kim, and a horde of other technicians standing by to assist.  For three seconds, they all held their breath, and then there was a collective sigh of relief, followed by laughter as the tension broke.  
  
"It worked," said Janeway, unwilling to release Chakotay from her grasp.  "I wasn't sure, I - Chakotay?  Chakotay!"  
  
He reached up to touch his lips, then looked at his fingers, his eyes puzzled.  They were covered with blood.  
  
"I - I think may-" He stumbled back, falling like a man drunk.  The blood flowed faster now, from his mouth, his nose, his ears, his eyes. Kes and the Doctor were rushing forward, shouting for emergency beam out to sickbay, injecting him with hypospray after hypospray.  And then there was the screaming, screams of pure agony as the nanites began tearing him apart from the inside out.  It was a mercy when the transporter beam took him, leaving the room in silence.  
  


* * *

  
  
Janeway knew they would come for her in person if he died, so she willed her crew away from her ready room doors, prayed for the doors to remain closed.  But it was not to be.  
  
It was Tuvok, of course, still in the clothing he wore down on that hell of a planet.  
  
"Lieutenant Torres and Ensign de Wynne are safely on board, Captain."  
  
Janeway nodded.  "Make sure they get 72 hours' liberty.  They need rest, time to recoup.  I wish I could give them more."  
  
Tuvok nodded in agreement, and brought up why he really came.  
  
"Captain, the Doctor asked me to tell you Commander Chakotay is stabilized."  
  
Janeway stood, stunned.  "He's not dead?"  
  
Tuvok shook his head.  "No.  He is in poor condition, but - " Janeway pushed past him, not waiting for him to finish.  
  
Torres and de Wynne, still in their filthy clothing, stood side by side next to Chakotay's bed, as if between the two of them they could impart some strength to the poor torn body that lay under the curving shell that kept him alive.  
  
Kes was there, too, as was the Doctor, and Kim.  They all stood there, solemn looks on their faces.  
  
"He's alive."  
  
The Doctor looked up.  "Yes.  Yes, Captain, he's alive.  But the damage is enormous, pervasive.  We'll start repair work tomorrow, but - "  
  
Janeway looked up.  "But what, Doctor?"  
  
The Doctor's face was gentle, and Janeway realized Torres must have been spending some of her little free time in reprogramming him to make him more sympathetic, more "user-friendly."  
  
"Captain, you must be prepared for the probability that he will never be as he was before."  
  


* * *

  
  
Never be as he was before.  
  
What did that mean?  That he would look different?  That he would speak differently?  That he would need re-education?  
  
She pressed the doctor, over and over, and he would only shake his head.  So much of him is gone, he'd say.  Livers and kidneys and intestines and skin can all be cloned without problem.  But the brain - yes, even brain tissue can be cloned and replaced, but how do you replace the wrinkles, the memories, the emotions, the knowledge that was once there and is now gone, thanks to a horde of voracious nanites?  
  
Janeway spent every spare minute she had with Chakotay, reading to him, telling him stories of Voyager's past.  She knew Torres spent time with him, too, and de Wynne and, of all people, Tuvok and Brazil. The entire crew visited him, bringing him plants and simple holographic games.  
  
But he never spoke.  He merely looked at his visitors with confused eyes, as if they were all a puzzle that he couldn't figure out.  
  
Kes said that speech would probably be the last of his motor skills to come back, the neural pathways between the speech centers in his brain and his larynx the last to fully heal.  But as for his memory - she, too, would only shake her head.  
  
But soon, it appeared that even that was coming back to him.  Excited, face filled with pleasure, Torres told Janeway at one of the lunches they so often shared now, that he'd solved an engineering puzzle that he only would have been able to do if he remembered some of his advanced classes from the Academy.  And Brazil had told her that he thought he saw recognition in the first officer's eyes.  
  
Maybe.  Maybe he would be back.  Janeway squeezed Torres' hand, tears in her eyes.  
  
His speech came back slowly, slurred.  Simple words, like "cat" and "targ" were easy for him, but anything with more than three syllables frustrated him to the point that once he threw a padd across the room, shattering it against the wall.  
  
But it did come back; more and more of his technical knowledge and skills, the recognition of some of the Maquis crew.  Torres, he recognized and treated as a friend, sharing stories of their life before Voyager.  Brazil and Phalen he remembered, but not why Phalen was in the brig.  He asked about Seska once, but never again after Torres told him about what she'd done.  
  
But his life on Voyager remained a mystery to him.  When Janeway would visit him, tell him stories of their journey in the Delta Quadrant, and give him the ship's logs, he would merely shake his head.  He remembered nothing.  
  
And then came the day that the Doctor told her Chakotay was ready to leave sickbay, and that he should be given shipboard duties to help speed his recovery.  Janeway assigned him to various stations to help refresh his memory.  She found he needed only a few days at each location before he was ready to go on to the next.  His technical skills, his ability to lead, apparently, were intact.  
  
It was only his more recent memories that refused to return.  
  
It seemed so strange to her, to see him sitting with Torres and de Wynne and Brazil at dinner in the dining facility, their heads bowed together as they shared some anecdote, and when she moved to join them, she could see in Chakotay's eyes she would not be welcome.  This man, who rushed to join her in her bed, who cursed any delay that kept him from her side.  Now, he went out of his way to avoid her, was uncomfortable in her presence.  
  
He looked as he always did to her, his body whole.  The Doctor had told her that physically, he was completely healed.  As for his memories?  Well, you cannot bring back what has been completely obliterated.  He would just have to create new ones.  It's fortunate, isn't it, that his technical skills, his command skills were intact, yes?  He should be able to return to his position as first officer within a few weeks.  
  
Yes.  Fortunate.  She'd have her first officer back.  
  


* * *

  
  
He came to her quarters a few weeks later, in the middle of the night, as he had so many times before.  For a moment Janeway's heart leaped with joy, thinking he remembered, thinking he wished to come to her bed and share its pleasures and whispers.  But instead, he stood, arms crossed, shifting from one foot to the other, uncomfortable.  
  
"I'm sorry to come so late, Captain, but this has been on my mind, and I needed to talk."  
  
Janeway tied her robe tighter.  "Of course.  Come in, sit.  Coffee? Tea?"  
  
He shook his head, and sat on the edge of the chair where he once sprawled, one leg over the arm, tea mug cupped in his big hands as he told her one story after another, making her laugh so hard the tears would flow.  
  
"Torres, Brazil, Tuvok - some of the others.  They've been telling me things about - us."  
  
She turned to the replicator.  Shipboard scuttlebutt.  There was no way to stop it.  "Coffee, black, hot.  Ninety-eight degrees." Painfully hot, near boiling.  She kept her back to him.  "Yes.  We were close."  
  
There was silence, but Janeway didn't dare turn around.  
  
"Close."  There was something ironic in his voice.  So familiar.  
  
"They tell me we were in love, that we were lovers."  
  
Janeway gripped the mug between her hands, burning them.  She didn't want him to see her face.  She didn't answer.  
  
"I - I don't remember - that."  He paused, awkwardly.  "I remember your face on the viewscreen when you caught up with my ship.  I remember my fury at you.  I remember that you're responsible for the destruction of my ship - "  
  
You remember that, but not that you loved me from that moment.  
  
She turned to him then.  "Destruction of your ship?  That's not quite true," she said.  
  
He stood.  "Maybe.  But that's how I remember it.  I'm here, my Maquis are here because of you.  True, the Caretaker brought us here, but if you had just left me and my ship alone - "  He stopped, realizing it was a pointless discussion.  
  
"Yes.  Well, whatever you remember, it's good to see you on your feet again," she said inanely, wanting to put words between them and fill the silence.  
  
"That's not why I came here, Captain."  He swallowed again, as if searching for words that didn't come easily. "I wanted you to know that no matter what, I swear I'll stand by you.  You took me on as your first officer, and I'll serve you the best I'm able."  
  
She gave him a small smile.  "Of course.  I never doubted that."  She looked away.  "Well.  Then.  I suppose we should both get some sleep. Some mornings come earlier than others.  Have you noticed that, Chakotay?"  
  
He heard him make his way to the door, but it didn't open.  She turned to him, holding his gaze, the act taking all her courage.  
  
"Captain.  I - "  Still his eyes held her, and he started again. "Kathryn - " He said her name softly, her heart missing a beat.  
  
"I would - "  He stopped, swallowing, then started again.  "I would love you, if I could."  
  
It was impossible to speak.  She nodded, lowering her eyes.  The door hissed open, and he was gone.  She wept until she was so exhausted she slept.  
  


* * *

  
  
As far as she could see, there was nothing.  
  
The plain was featureless, flat to the horizon, without vegetation or even color.  The wind blew cold across the gray landscape, shoving icy fingers through her hair and whipping it from its fastenings.  
  
Even the sky was a flat, lifeless gray, so close in hue to the land that she had to look carefully to determine where sky began and earth began.  
  
She cupped her hands about her mouth and shouted.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
The wind whipped the word away.  She cleared her throat, and tried again  
  
"Hello?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
She turned a complete circle, more slowly than she had done earlier, studying her surroundings  carefully with the hope she had missed something the first time she'd looked.  
  
Nothing.  She was alone.  Completely alone.  
  
And what was worse, she knew that there was no one to help her get away from this gray existence.  
  
She covered her face with her hands, and let a sob escape her.  
  
"Kathryn."  
  
She whirled, staggering back a step.  Where only seconds before, there had been no one, there was now an old woman - straight, still strong, but her face was wrinkled with a million tiny lines and her hair was as gray as the surroundings.  
  
Janeway recognized her immediately.  
  
"I didn't expect to ever see you again."  
  
The woman gave her a small smile, but her eyes were sad. "I'll leave if you wish," she said, teasing slightly.  "But I thought you might like some company."  
  
Janeway stepped forward and took her arm.  "Gods, no!  I'm - I'm happy you're here!"  She swallowed and looked around her, and then set her gaze on the old woman.  
  
"You helped me before," Janeway said.  "I need your help again."  
  
The small smile on the old woman's lips faded, leaving her looking sad.  
  
"You want me to help you leave this place," she said, her voice full of sorrow.  
  
Janeway nodded.  "There's nothing here - only grayness, a colorless existence.  There's no one - "  She stopped, and looked at the old woman.  "Please."  
  
The old woman took Janeway's arm, and began to walk, drawing Janeway along.  
  
"This time, I'm afraid, there's nothing I can do," she said.  "I can't help you."  
  
Janeway, stopped and turned on her.  "What do you mean, you can't help me?  I can't begin to know how to get out of here by myself! You can't leave me here alone!"  
  
The old woman began walking again.  "Kathryn, this time, there is no way out.  This is your place."  
  
Janeway stopped and stumbled back, a look of horror on her face.  
  
"You can't mean that!"  She looked around her again, and swallowed. "If I stay here, I'll die."  
  
The old woman eyes were bright with unshed tears.  "You won't die. You'll live. You'll go on."  
  
Janeway turned away.  "What kind of life is this?  To lose those I love, to be taken from my home, to find small moments of joy only to have them ripped away?"  Her own tears spilled over.  "Every day, to make the decisions that may mean life or death to my crew, to be responsible for their welfare, their happiness - I'm responsible for them losing their own families, taking them from their homes -"  
  
The old woman took Janeway's arm.  "It's a heavy burden.  Almost unbearable at times."  
  
Janeway turned on her angrily.  "I didn't ask for this!"  
  
The old woman shook her head.  "No.  No you didn't ask for it. You had no choice.  "It was a Hobson's choice."  
  
Janeway looked at her, the anger still there, but not understanding. "Hobson's choice?  I don't know what you mean."  
  
The old woman smiled that small secret smile again.  "A Hobson's choice?  Your mother told you this story, many, many years ago. You've just forgotten."  
  
Still angry at the old woman's refusal to help, Janeway snapped at her.  "Humor me.  What's a Hobson's choice?"  
  
The old woman turned to sit on one of two low chairs, chairs Janeway knew hadn't been there before.  "These old bones," she said, sighing. "Be thankful for your youth, Kathryn."  
  
Janeway sat down impatiently.  "You were saying?"  
  
The old woman leaned back, and began her story.  
  
"Many many years ago, in old New York City, there was a man named Hobson who had a stable in a place called Central Park.  This was before there were ground cars, and people either took trains, or walked or rode horses as their primary modes of transportation."  
  
Janeway moved restlessly.  "So this Hobson would rent horses out to people?"  
  
The old woman nodded.  "Yes.  He rented horses for transportation, and also for recreation. His busiest day was Sunday, which back then was the day most people took off from their regular schedules and recreated."  
  
"I still don't understand about the 'choice,' " said Janeway.  
  
"Well, like I said, Sunday was a very busy day for Hobson's stables. So busy, that he couldn't accommodate all his customers' demands.  Mr. Jones wanted Seabiscuit for his ride, but Mr. Smith already had the horse.  Miss Wilson wanted a small, quiet mare, and all that were left were stallions."  The old woman smiled broadly.  "It got to the point that Hobson and his customers spent all their time arguing about the horses that they got rather than riding.  No one was happy with their mount, everyone wanted a different horse.  It got worse and worse, until, one Sunday, when Hobson refused a customer the horse he wanted, the customer drew a gun on him."  
  
Janeway nodded, the story finally beginning to sound familiar to her. He mother had told her this story when she was very young, trying to make a point about something that Janeway had no memory of.  
  
"So, what did Hobson do?" she asked.  
  
The old woman grinned.  "He punched the customer right in the face, and closed the stable for a week.  And when he opened it again, it was with a whole new set of rules. 'From now on,' he said, 'the only choice customers have as to the horse they want is my choice - Hobson's choice.  Customers will get whatever animal comes out of the barn when their turn comes up.  It's that, or they don't ride.'"  
  
Janeway said back in her chair, quiet, thoughtful.  "So they had no choice," she said, finally.  
  
The old woman nodded.  "That's right.  They had no choice.  They had to take what came out of the barn.  Sometimes, it was a spirited, beautiful stallion.  Sometimes, a nag."  She took Kathryn's hand.  "If they were smart, they made the best of it."  She paused, and then continued.  "There were some customers who even took their animals back to the barn and groomed them, fed them, nurtured them.  After all, these animals worked hard for their humble existence."  
  
Janeway looked down at their clasped hands, suddenly ashamed.  
  
"I know what I have to do," said Janeway, her voice subdued.  "But it's so hard - you can't know how hard it is - "  
  
The old woman squeezed Janeway's hand.  "I do know.  And I wish I could tell you it's going to be better, easier, from now on.  But it's not.  And your crew needs you.  Without you, they're lost."  
  
Janeway laughed bitterly.  "Oh, Voyager would get through.  Chakotay, Tuvok, the rest, they'd find their way back."  Janeway laughed again, the bitterness still there.  "Sometimes I think I only make things worse, filling the crew with anger, resentment - "  
  
The old woman was silent for a long moment, the long low moaning of the wind the only sound.  When she spoke, her voice was filled with such sorrow that Janeway's heart ached for her.  
  
"It's true, Kathryn, that Voyager would get through, get back to the Alpha Quadrant, without you.  Chakotay, Tuvok, Torres, Paris, Kim - all the rest - are competent officers.  Better than competent; as good as any in Starfleet.  But they need you.  Need your intelligence and your compassion, your wisdom and your steadfastness.  They need you to be their teacher, they need you to lead them.  Not just here in the Delta Quadrant.  For what comes later."  
  
Janeway leaned forward urgently.  "What do you mean?  What later?"  
  
The old woman touched Janeway's face.  "They'll write books about you someday, Kathryn."  
  
Janeway laughed.  "Books about me for taking a wrong turn into the Delta Quadrant?"  
  
The woman smiled.  "For that, yes.  But also about your crew.  Your crew will be renowned.  One of them will lead Starfleet Academy, training the next generation who will go to the stars.  Another will command Starfleet Intelligence, another will become chief of Starfleet Operations, the highest post within Starfleet.  Those who choose to leave - well, one will be elected the Federation's secretary general, and will serve longer than any other - "  
  
Janeway began to laugh.  "What will I have to do with any of that?  I was just lucky, I got a terrific crew - "  
  
"Some of them, yes.  But you also got misfits, loners, wounded birds. Brazil and Torres, Phalen and Paris - to a lesser extent, Chakotay - if it weren't for you, they would be lost  - "  
  
"With the exception, of Paris, I haven't done anything special for them," said Janeway, "and Paris earned what I gave him - "  
  
"Some might see it that way.  Others wouldn't."  The old woman locked her gaze with Janeway's.  "The thing is, Kathryn, you're able to do what many - most can't.  You lead.  You inspire.  You have a strong moral compass that makes you do the right thing, even when it seems impossible.  Your crew knows that - or they soon will figure it out - and they learn from you, follow your example.  Once they get back to the Alpha Quadrant, they'll take what they have learned from your leadership, and carry on."  
  
Janeway gave her a wry smile.  "I think you give me too much credit."  
  
The old woman stood.  "Maybe.  Maybe not.  But there's more to this, Kathryn.  Starfleet and the Federation needs their leadership.  You must teach them, lead them, make them understand the importance of service to the Federation and Starfleet.  While you've been gone - " She stopped abruptly.  
  
Janeway stood, alarm on her features.  "What?  What's happened since we've been gone?  My mother, my sister - Mark - "  
  
The woman stepped back.  "It's time for me to go.  My grandchildren - you remember, they worry - "  
  
Almost frantic now, Janeway began to follow her.  
  
"You can't just leave like this!  What's happened back home?"  
  
The old woman continued walking away.  
  
"Good bye, Kathryn.  We won't see each other again."  
  
"No, wait!  Please, you have to - "  
  
"Good morning, Captain Janeway.  The time is zero five forty five. During Delta shift, there were no significant incidences.  Warp drive operation is within normal parameters.  Life support is operating within normal parameters. Commander Chakotay has requested a meeting with you this morning to discuss replicator allocations.  Lieutenant Torres has requested additional personnel to assist her with an impulse drive operational check.  Petty Officer Brazil has requested transfer to engineering, and is also petitioning for a field commission to become a Starfleet officer.  Shall I engage illumination or do you wish to continue resting?"  
  
Janeway pushed back the bedclothes and stood up.  "Full illumination, computer.  Please play Janeway music selection number three."  
  
Soft flute music filled her quarters.  She stood still for a few moments, listening to it, waiting for the melody to perform its soothing magic.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Computer, end music."  
  
Abruptly it stopped, leaving only the silence of the ship.  
  
But a starship is never silent.  It whispers with the sounds of its life.  The nearly imperceptible hiss of life support, providing heat and air and light.  The gentle throb of the engines, taking them through the void of space.  Dozens of tiny sounds that were imperceptible to most, but to Janeway, they were comforting, assuring that all was normal.  
  
She stood for a moment, listing to the ship and its crew that were her flesh and blood.  Long ago, she had committed her life to the Federation and Starfleet, to all that they stood for.  Space exploration and the accumulation of knowledge.  Protection of the Federation worlds.  
  
At the time, she hadn't known the price she would pay for that commitment.  She hadn't known that the life she'd chosen would be so lonely, so difficult, so pain-filled.  
  
Perhaps, if she were back home, in her own quadrant, her own universe, she could make a different choice.  She could choose to take a man, to have children, to raise a family.  If her life in Starfleet became too wearing for her soul, she could retire and take another profession.  
  
Unfortunately, those choices weren't open to her now.  This was her life now; a solitary existence with no choice but to lead.  Abdication wasn't an option.  This was the horse that came out of the barn.  
  
She took the three steps to look into the mirror, and saw the woman she always saw.  The recalcitrant hair that obeyed her only when she fastened it tightly.  The too-strong chin that made her seem much more determined than she actually was.  The narrow lips.  The blue eyes that expressed her feelings entirely too well.  
  
The reflection in the mirror hadn't changed.  But she knew inside she was different.  Everything had changed.  She had changed.  Whether some queer dream fabricated by an overwrought mind or a doppelganger from her future, the old woman she'd met had made it clear.  She could only go forward, into a life not of her choosing.  
  
Or maybe she did have choices; unexpected choices that would fulfill her life more than she ever imagined.  
  
She would live without Chakotay's love; she had no choice in that. But she could spend that love on the men and women of this ship.  She would bear no children.  But each and every man and woman on board could be nurtured as if they were her own offspring.  
  
And as for the eternal pressures of command -  
  
She closed her eyes, and thought of what the future would bring.  It wouldn't be easy.  She knew that.  But in the end, she had no choice but to face it and persevere.  
  
After all, it was her duty.


End file.
